ROSE    CLARK 


BY 

FANNY    FERN. 


NEW   YOEK: 

PUBLISHED   BY  MASON   BROTHERS 
1856. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

MASON    BROTHEKS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court,  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  PRINTED    BT 

THOMAS   B.   SMITH,  JOHN  A.  GRAT, 

82  &  84  Beekman  Street.  »7  Cliff  St. 


- 


f  °V 


KEADEE  ! 

WHEN  the  frost  curtains  the  windows,  when 
the  wind  whistles  fiercely  at  the  key-hole,  when 
the  bright  fire  glows,  and  the  tea-tray  is  re 
moved,  and  father  in  his  slippered  feet  lolls 
in  his  arm-chair ;  and  mother  with  her  nim 
ble  needle  "makes  auld  claes  look  amaist  as 
weel  as  new,"  and  grandmamma  draws  closer 
to  the  chimney-corner,  and  Tommy  with  his 
plate  of  chestnuts  nestles  contentedly  at  her 
feet ;  then  let  my  unpretending  story  be  read. 
For  such  an  hour,  for  such  an  audience,  was  it 
written. 

Should  any  dictionary  on  legs  rap  inoppor 
tunely  at  the  door  for  admittance,  send  him 
away  to  the  groaning  shelves  of  some  musty 
library,  where  "literature"  lies  embalmed,  with 

M752O49 


its  stony  eyes,  fleshless  joints,  and  ossified  heart, 
in  faultless  preservation. 

Then,  should  the  smile,  and  the  tear,  have 
passed  round,  while  the  candle  flickers  in  the 
socket,  if  but  one  kindly  voice  murmur  low, 

"  MAY  GOD  BLESS  HER  !" 
it  will  brighten  the  dreams  of 

FANNY  FERN. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAQH 

THE  ORPHAN  ASYLUM — ROSE'S  INTRODUCTION  TO  IT — MRS. 
MARKHAM — ROSE'S  INITIATION — TIMMINS .' 15 


CHAPTER  II. 

MR.  BALCH.  .  ,    27 


CHAPTER  III. 

ROSE'S  COMPANIONS— THE  DINING-TABLE  AND  THE  SCHOOLROOM.    30 

CHAPTER  IV. 

AUNT  DOLLY — How  IT  CAME  TO  PASS — Two  OLD  MAIDS'  OPIN 
IONS  ON  LITERATURE,  MEN  AND  MARRIAGE  GENERALLY,  AND 
ON  THE  BACHELORS  or  DIFFTOWN  PARTICULARLY 34 

CHAPTER  V. 

LITTLE  TIBBS — AN  INSTANCE  OF  MRS.  MARKHAM'S  "  MOTHERLY 
CARE"  OF  THE  ORPHANS 39 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

FAOB 

THE  FASHIONABLE  UNDERTAKER 45 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  INVESTIGATING  COMMITTEE  "  INSPECT"  THE  ASYLUM — MR. 
BALCH  PRIVATELY  RECORDS  THE  YERDICT  ON  THE  HAND  OF 
THE  MATRON..,  ,  48 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
TIBBS'  GHOST 54 

CHAPTER  IX. 

AUNT  DOLLY  KEMOVES  ROSE  FROM  THE  ASYLUM — THE  RIDE 
"  HOME" — DOLLY'S  IDEAS  OF  NATURE,  SENTIMENT,  AND  DUTY.  57 

CHAPTER  X. 

AUNT  DOLLY  REFUSES  ROSE'S  REQUEST  TO  BE  SENT  TO  SCHOOL, 
AND  ATTEMPTS  TO  CONVINCE  HER  THAT  LYING  IS  THE  BEST 
POLICY 68 

CHAPTER  XI. 

MR.  CLIFTON,  THE  VILLAGE  MINISTER — THE  PARSONAGE 71 

CHAPTER  XII. 

MR.  CLIFTON'S  PASTORAL  CALL  ON  DOLLY — THE  CONVERSATION 
ABOUT  ROSE *'. 76 


CONTENTS.  Vil 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

PAGH 

DEATH  AT  THE  PARSONAGE  ...............................    82 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

ROSE  BEQUESTS  OF  AUNT  DOLLY  A  MEMENTO  or  HER  MOTHER.     86 

CHAPTER  XV. 
ROSE  IN  THE  MILLINER  SHOP  .............................     90 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

MRS.  CLIFTON  TISITS  "THE  BABY'S"  GRAVE  —  A  PLEASANT  SUR 
PRISE  —  DOLLY'S  SICKNESS  —  DAFFY'S  SOLILOQUY  ...........    94 

.  *i 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

DOLLY  CONVALESCES  AND  EFFERVESCES  —  BAKING-DAY,  AND 
ROSE'S  FIRS*C  ATTEMPT  AT  COOKING  —  HEART'S-EASE  ........  101 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TILLAGE  GOSSIP  —  THE  DESOLATE  PARSONAGE  ...............  109 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  CHILD-MOTHER  —  AUNT  DOLLY'S  LETTER.  .          .........  112 


VUl  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XX. 

PAGH 

A  GLIMPSE  AT  BACHELOR  QUARTERS 119 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

EOSE'S  SICK  BABE — AUNT  DOLLY,  AS  THE  FASHIONABLE  MRS. 
JOHN  HOWE..  122 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

OLD  MRS.  BOND'S  VISIT  TO  THE  CITY  —  SILENT  KEPROOF.  ......  128 


CHAPTER 

MR.  FINELS,  MRS.  HOWE'S  INTIMATE  FRIEND  —  MRS.  BOND'S  IN 
TERVIEW  WITH  ROSE  ..................................  133 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  PASSAGE-AT-ARMS  BETWEEN  MRS.  HOWE  AND  HER  FASHION 
ABLE  FEMALE  FRIEND  .................................  147 


CHAPTER  XXV.          • 

MR.  HOWE   ATTEMPTS  AN  INDEPENDENT   COURSE   OF   ACTION  — 

HE  REMOVES  ROSE  AND  LITTLE  CHARLEY  FROM  THE  ATTIC 
TO  THE   BEST  SPARE  ROOM  —  MRS.  HOWE  "LETS  HIM  HEAR 

FROM  IT."  ............................................    152 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ROSE    MAKES  AN  ASTOUNDING    DISCOVERY  —  MR.   HOWE   VEN 

TURES  ON  A  CONNUBIAL  JOKE  —  THE  RESULT  OF  MR.  HOWE'S 
JOKE  —  ROSE  AND  HER  SICK  BABE  IN  THE  STAGE-COACH  .....  158 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

TION  OF  ROSE  —  THE  OLD 
TIAN  FAITH  AND  PHILOSOPHY  ..........................  170 


PAGE 

MRS.  BOND'S  RECEPTION  OF  ROSE  —  THE  OLD  LADY'S  CHRIS 


CHAPTER  XXVIH. 

THE  WASH-ROOM—  THE  BRUTAL  REMARK  ..................  172 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Miss  BODKIN'S  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  KISE  AND  PROGRESS  OF  MRS. 
JOHN  HOWE  .........................................  176 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  ROSE,  WITH  LITTLE  CHARLEY.  .............  181 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  CHRISTENING,  AT  MRS.  HOWE'S  —  THE  SECRET  WHISPER 
—  THE  DENOUEMENT  ..................................  184 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ROSE  AT  SEA  —  CAPTAIN  LUCAS  —  FRITZ  —  DQCTOR  PERRY  —  THE 
MARRIAGE  PROPOSAL  .................................  189 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  CAPTAIN  AND  DR.  PERRY—  ARRIVAL  IN  NEW  ORLEANS.  198 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

E — THE  MANIAC'S  STORY — 1 

CENT. .    202 


PAOZ 

ROSE'S  NEW  HOME — THE  MANIAC'S  STORY — NEWS  OP  YIN- 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

MBS.  HOWE  THINKS  IT  TIME  TO  GO  TO  THE  SPRINGS — MR.  HOWE 
ATTEMPTS  TO  CHERISH  AN  OPINION  OP  HIS  OWN — THE  MAGIO 
WHISPER..  .  209 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
THE  MYSTERY  EXPLAINED 212 


CHAPTER  XXXVH. 

ROSE'S  ILLNESS  . .  .215 


CHAPTER  XXXVIH. 
THE  LADY  ARTIST 218 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 
GERTRUDE'S  STORY 226 


CHAPTER  XL. 

MR.  AND  MRS  HOWE  ON  THE  ROAD  TO  THE  SPRINGS — A  RAIL 
ROAD  ACCIDENT— THE  TABLES  TURNED...  .  256 


CONTENTS.  XI 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

PAGE 

CHARLEY'S  INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  VINCENT  MANSION — DOCTOR 
PERRY  AGAIN  SEEKS  TO  MAKE  ROSE  HIS  WIFE — GERTRUDE'S 
LOCKET — THE  RECOGNITION 264 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

MADAME  VINCENT'S  PRESENT  TO  CHARLEY 278 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

JOHN  AND  GERTRUDE— A  BIT  OP  WOMAN'S  PHILOSOPHY 280 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

ROSE  PROPOSES  TO  TURN  AUTHORESS — GERTRUDE  GIVES  HER 
SOME  CHOICE  SPECIMENS  OF  CRITICISM 286 

CHAPTER  XLV. 

Miss  ANNE  COOPER — MADAME  VINCENT'S  SEXAGENARIAN  LOVE 
REMINISCENCES 291 

CHAPTER  XLYI. 

MADAME  VINCENT'S  VISIT  TO  ROSE 300 

CHAPTER  XLYII. 

Miss  ANNE  COOPER'S  DIPLOMACY 304 

CHAPTER  XLVIH. 

MADAME  MACQUE  TURNS  ROSE  OUT  OF  DOORS.  .  , .  369 


Xll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

PAGE 

CUPID  IN  THE  KITCHEN — HIGH  LIFE  BELOW  STAIRS 312 

CHAPTER  L. 
A  LETTER  FROM  MB.  FINELS 320 

CHAPTER  LI. 

ROSE,  GERTRUDE,  AND  JOHN,  AT  NIAGARA — THE  AGED  COUPLE 
— THE  HUSBAND  CARRIED  OVER  THE  FALLS,  AND  THE  MOURN 
ER'S  STORY 323 

CHAPTER  IH. 
A  CHAPTER  ON  MAN'S  VANITY. 335 

CHAPTER  LHI. 
MARKHAM  FOUND  OUT — BALCH  KEPENTENT 340 

CHAPTER  LIT. 

THE  UNEXPECTED  APPEARANCE  OF  MR.  STAHLE,  AND  ITS  CON 
SEQUENCES  344 

CHAPTER  LV. 
ROSE'S  DREAM 349 

CHAPTER  LVI. 
A  SCENE  IN  MRS.  HOWE'S  PARLOR , 353 


CONTENTS.  Xiii 

CHAPTER  LYII. 

PAGE 

MRS.  BOND'S  STRANGE  VISITOR 359 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 

ANOTHER  LETTER  FROM  MR.  FINELS 366 

CHAPTER  LIX. 

A  CHAPTER  ON  BOSTON,  ITS  INHABITANTS  AND  ENVIRONS 368 

CHAPTER  LX. 
JOHN'S  DREAM 3?6 

CHAPTER  LXI. 

SCENE  ON  BOARD  CAPTAIN  LUCAS'S  SHIP 379 

CHAPTER  LXII. 
GERTRUDE'S  SORROWFUL  DAT 383 

CHAPTER  LXIII. 

A  THIRD  LETTER  FROM  MR.  FINELS 885 

CHAPTER  LXIV. 
CHARLEY'S  CHILD-SORROW. 389 

CHAPTER  LXV. 

MRS.  BOND'S  FUNERAL.  . .  394 


XIV  CONTEKTS. 

CHAPTER  LXVI. 

PAGB 

THE  MEETING  or  JOHN  AND  THE  STRANGER 379 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

THE  STRANGER  IN  GERTRUDE'S  STUDIO — ROSE'S  PICTURE  REC 
OGNIZED — THE  MEETING.  ...  , .  402 


CHAPTER  LXVHI. 
VINCENT'S  STORY. 405 

CHAPTER  LXIX. 
JOHN'S  TRIUMPH. 410 

CHAPTER  LXX. 
JOHN  AND  VINCENT 412 

CHAPTER  LXXI. 

PEACE — RETRIBUTION.  .  , .  414 


ROSE     CLARK. 


CHAPTER   I. 

is  number  fifty-four,  Timmins,"  said  the 
matron  of  a  charity-school  to  her  factotum,  as  she  led 
in  a  little  girl  about  six  years  of  age  ;  "  number  fifty- 
four  ;  you  must  put  another  cot  in  the  long  hall,  and 
another  plate  in  the  eating-room.  What  is  your  name, 
child  ?» 

"  Rose,"  replied  the  little  one,  vailing  her  soft,  dark 
eyes  under  their  curtaining  lashes,  and  twisting  the 
corner  of  a  cotton  shawl. 

"Rose!"  repeated  the  matron,  in  a  contemptuous 
aside,  to  Timmins ;  "  I  knew  it  would  be  sure  to  be 
something  fanciful ;  beggars  always  go  on  stilts." 

"  I  am  not  a  beggar,"  said  the  child,  "  I  am  mother's 
little  Rose." 

"Mother's  little  Rose?"  repeated  the  matron, 
again,  in  the  same  sneering  tone ;  "  well — who  was 
mother  ?" 

"  Mother  is  dead,"  said  the  child,  with  a  quivering 

UP. 


16  ROSE     CLABK. 

"No  loss,  either,"  said  Mrs.  Markham  to  Tiinmins, 
"  since  she  did  not  know  better  than  to  let  the  child 
run  in  the  streets." 

"  Mother  was  sick,  and  I  had  to  go  of  errands,"  said 
the  child,  defensively. 

"  Ah,  yes — always  an  excuse ;  but  do  you  know  that 
I  am  the  matron  of  this  establishment  ?  and  that  you 
must  never  answer  me  back,  in  that  way  ?  Do  you 
know  that  you  must  do  exactly  as  I  and  the  committee 
say  ?  Timmins,  bring  me  the  scissors  and  let  us  lop 
off  this  mop  of  a  wig,"  and  she  lifted  up  the  clus 
tering  curls,  behind  which  Rose  seemed  trying  to 
hide. 

"  There — now  you  look  proper  and  more  befitting 
your  condition,"  said  Mrs.  Markham,  as  the  sheared 
lamb  rose  from  its  kneeling  posture  and  stood  before 
her.  "Timmins,  Timmins!"  Mrs.  Markham  whis 
pered,  "don't  throw  away  those  curls;  the  hair 
dresser  always  allows  me  something  handsome  for 
them.  It  is  curious  what  thick  hair  beggar  children 
always  have." 

"  But  I  am  not  a  beggar,"  said  Hose  again,  stand 
ing  up  very  straight  before  Mrs.  Markham. 

"  Look  at  it,"  said  Mrs.  Markham,  with  a  sneer ; 
"  look  at  it,  Timmins,  it  is  *  not  a  beggar.'  Look  at  its 
ragged  frock,  and  soiled  shawl,  and  torn  pinafore ;  it 
'is  not  a  beggar.'  "We  shall  have  some  work  to  do 
here,  Timmins.  Come  here,  Rose." 


ROSE     CLARK.  17 

"  Did  you  hear  me,  child  ?"  she  repeated,  as  Rose 
remained  stationary. 

The  child  moved  slowly  toward  Mrs.  Markham. 

"  Look  me  in  the  eye." 

Rose  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  the  stern,  hard  face 
before  her. 

"Do  you  know  that  naughty  girls,  in  this  house, 
stay  in  dark  closets." 

Rose  shuddered,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so ;  you  had  better  remember  that. 
Now,  go  away  with  Timmins,  and  have  the  school  uni 
form  put  on ;  '  not  a  beggar !'  was  there  ever  the  like 
of  that?"  and  Mrs.  Markham  settled  herself  in  her 
rocking-chair,  put  her  feet  upon  the  sofa,  and  com 
posed  herself  for  her  after-dinner  nap. 

As  she  reclines  there,  we  will  venture  to  take  a  look 
at  her :  not  a  phrenological  glance,  for  she  has  a  cap 
on  her  head ;  under  its  frilled  borders  peep  some  wiry 
artificial  curls ;  her  lips  are  thin  and  vixenish  ;  her 
nose  sharp  and  long,  with  a  bridge  which  seems  to 
defy  the  beholder  to  cross  her  will ;  her  dress  clings 
very  tightly  to  her  bean-pole  figure ;  and  on  her  long 
arm  hangs  a  black  velvet  bag,  containing  her  spec 
tacles,  snuff-box,  and  some  checkerberry  lozenges, 
which  she  has  a  pleasant  way  of  chewing  before  the 
children  in  school  hours.  You  may  know  that  she  ex 
pects  a  call  to-day,  because  she  has  on  her  festal  gilt 
breast-pin  with  a  green  stone  in  the  center. 


18  ROSE     CLAEK. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  ma'am ;  sorry  to  wake  you," 
said  Timmins,  with  a  very  flushed  face ;  "  but  I  can't  do 
nothing  with  that  young  one,  though  I  have  tried  my 
best.  I  went  up  stairs  to  wash  her  all  over,  according 
to  rule,  before  I  put  on  the  school  uniform ;  and  when 
I  began  to  strip  her,  she  pulled  her  clothes  all  about 
ker,  and  held  them  tight,  and  cried,  and  took  on,  say 
ing  that  nobody  ever  saw  her  all  undressed  but  her 
mother,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"The  affected  little  prude !  and  to  break  up  my  nap, 
too!"  said  Mrs.  Markham.  "I'll  teach  her — come 
along,  Timmins." 

True  enough ;  there  stood  Rose  in  the  corner,  as 
Timmins  had  said ;  her  dress  half  torn  off  in  the  scuffle, 
leaving  exposed  her  beautifully-molded  shoulders  and 
back,  while  with  her  little  hands  she  clutched  the  re 
maining  rags  closely  about  her  person.  With  her  di 
lated  nostrils,  flushed  cheeks,  and  flashing  eyes,  she 
made  a  tableau  worth  looking  at. 

"  Come  here,"  hissed  Mrs.  Markham,  in  a  tone  that 
made  Rose's  flesh  creep. 

Rose  moved  slowly  toward  her. 

"  Take  off  those  rags — every  one  of  them." 

"  I  can  not,"  said  Rose ;  "  oh,  don't  make  me ;  I 
can  not." 

"  Take  them  off,  I  say.  What !  do  you  mean  to  re 
sist  me  ?"  (as  Rose  held  them  more  tenaciously  about 
her  ;)  and  grasping  her  tightly  by  the  wrist,  she  drew 


ROSE     CLARK.  19 

her  through  a  long  passage-way,  down  a  steep  pair  of 
stairs,  and  pushing  her  into  a  dark  closet,  turned  the 
key  on  her  and  strode  away. 

"  Obstinate  little  minx,"  she  said,  as  she  passed  Tim- 
mins,  on  her  return  to  her  rocking-chair  and  to  her  nap. 

"  Hark !  Mrs.  Markham !  Mrs.  Markham ! — what 's 
that  groan  ?  Had  n't  I  better  open  the  door  and 
peep  in?" 

"  That  is  always  the  way  with  you,  Timmins :  no,  of 
course  not.  She  can  affect  groaning  as  well  as  she  can 
affect  delicacy ;  let  her  stay  there  till  her  spirit  is  well 
broke ;  when  I  get  ready  I  will  let  her  out  myself;" 
and  Mrs.  Markham  walked  away. 

But  Timmins  was  superstitious,  and  that  groan 
haunted  her,  and  so  she  went  back  to  the  closet  to 
listen.  It  was  all  very  still ;  perhaps  it  was  not  Rose, 
after  all ;  and  Timmins  breathed  easier,  and  walked  a 
few  steps  away ;  and  then  again,  perhaps  it  was,  and 
Timmins  walked  back  again.  It  would  do  no  harm  to 
peep,  at  any  rate  ;  the  key  was  hi  the  lock,  and  Mrs. 
Markham  never  would  know  it.  Timmins  softly 
turned  it; — she  called, 

"  Rose !" 

No  answer.  She  threw  open  the  blind  in  the  entry, 
that  the  light  might  stream  into  the  closet.  There 
lay  the  child  in  strong  convulsions.  Timmins  knew 
she  risked  nothing  in  calling  Mrs.  Markham  now. 

"  Come  quick — quick — she  is  dying !" 


20  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  Pshaw !  only  a  trick,"  said  Mrs.  Markham,  moro 
nervous  than  she  chose  to  acknowledge,  as  she  con 
sulted  her  watch  and  thought  of  the  visitor  she  was 
expecting. 

"  Take  her  up,  Timmins,"  said  she,  after  satisfying 
herself  the  child  was  senseless,  "  take  her  into  my  room, 
and  put  her  on  the  bed." 

"Gracious!  how  can  I?"  asked  Timmins,  looking 
with  dismay  at  the  blood  flowing  profusely  from  a 
wound  in  the  temple,  occasioned  by  her  fall ;  "  she 
looks  so  dreadful,  Mrs.  Markham." 

"Fool!"  exclaimed  that  lady,  as  she  snatched  up 
the  little  sufferer  in  her  arms,  and  walked  rapidly 
through  the  entry.  "  That 's  the  door  bell,  Timmins  ; 
that  is  Mr.  Balch ;  tell  him  I  will  be  there  directly — 
mind — not  a  word  about  the  child,  as  you  value  your 
place.  I  have  not  forgotten  that  brown  soap  busi 
ness." 

The  cowed  Timmins  retired  as  she  was  bid;  and 
Mrs.  Markham,  laying  the  insensible  child  on  the  bed, 
closed  the  door  of  her  room  and  applied  the  proper 
restoratives;  for  her  position  involved  some  little 
knowledge  of  the  healing  art.  After  a  while,  Rose 
opened  her  eyes,  but  as  suddenly  closed  them  again, 
as  they  revealed  the  form  of  her  persecutor. 

"  You  can  attend  to  her  now,"  said  Mrs.  Markham 
to  Timmins,  about  half  an  hour  after,  as  she  went 
down  to  receive  Mr.  Balch. 


BOSE     CLAEK.  21 

Timmins  walked  about  the  room  uneasily,  for  Rose's 
ghastly  face  distressed  her. 

"If  she  would  only  speak,  or  open  her  eyes!"  but 
the  child  did  neither.  Timmins  coughed  and  hemmed, 
but  Rose  did  not  seem  to  notice  it ;  at  lastj  going  up 
to  the  bed-side,  she  passed  her  hand  over  her  fore 
head. 

• "  Don't,"  whispered  Rose,  glancing  round  the  room 
as  if  afraid  of  seeing  Mrs.  Markham ;  "  don't  try  to 
make  me  well,  I  want  to  die." 

"Oh,  no,  you  don't,"  exclaimed  Timmins,  more 
frightened  than  ever;  "that's  awful — you  won't  go 
to  Heaven,  if  you  talk  that  way." 

"Won't  I?"  asked  the  child;  "won't  I  go  to 
Heaven  and  be  with  my  mother  ?" 

"ISTo,"  said  Timmins,  oracularly;  "no— -in  course 
you  won't ;  all  of  us  has  to  wait  till  we  are  sent  for ; 
we  can't,  none  of  us,  hurry  the  time,  or  put  it  off, 
nuther,  when  it  comes." 

"  When  will  my  time  come  ?"  asked  Rose,  sadly. 

"  Lor' !  how  you  talk — don't  go  on  that  way ;  you've 
got  a  while  to  live  yet ;  you  are  nothing  but  a  baby." 

"Shall  I  always  live  here?"  asked  Rose,  looking 
round  again,  as  if  in  fear  of  Mrs.  Markham. 

"You  '11  live  here  till  you  are  bound  out,  I  reckon." 

"  What 's  that  ?"  asked  Rose,  innocently. 

"Wall,  I  never!"  exclaimed  Timmins;  "haven't 
you  never  heern  about  being  bound  out  ?" 


22  HOSE     CLARK. 

"  No,"  answered  Rose,  a  little  ashamed  of  her  ig 
norance. 

"  Wall,  the  upshot  of  it  is,  that  you  are  sent  away 
to  live  with  any  body  that  Mrs.  Markham  and  the 
committee  say,  and  work  for  them  just  as  long  as 
they  tell  you,  for  your  meat,  and  drink,  and  clothing." 

"  What  is  a  committee  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"Why,  it's  Mr.  Balch,  and  Mr.  Skinner,  and  Mr. 
Flint,  and  Mr.  Stone,  and  Mr.  Grant,  and  them." 

"Can't  you  ever  get  away  from  the  place  where 
they  send  you  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"What  a  thing  you  are  to  ask  questions.  Yes,  I 
spose  you  kin,  if  you  die  or  get  married — it  amounts 
to  about  the  same  thing,"  said  Timmins,  with  a  shrug 
of  her  divorced  shoulders. 

"  To  whom  shall  I  be  bound  out  ?"  asked  the  child. 

"  Land's  sake,  as  if  I  could  tell ;  perhaps  to  one 
person,  perhaps  to  another." 

This  answer  not  being  very  satisfactory  to  Rose, 
she  turned  her  face  to  the  pillow  and  heaved  a  deep 

sigh. 

"Haven't  you  got  no  folks?"  asked  Timmins. 
"What?" 

"No  folks?  no  relations,  like?" 
"None  but  Aunt  Dolly." 
"Who  is  Aunt  Dolly?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  never  saw  her  till  she  brought 
me  here." 


ROSE     CLARK.  23 

"  Where  did  she  bring  you  from  ?" 

"  My  mother's  grave." 

"Yes — but  what  house  did  you  live  in  when  she 
took  you  ?" 

"  I  did  n't  live  in  any  house  ;  all  day  long  I  sat  on 
my  mother's  grave,  and,  at  night,  I  crept  behind  some 
boards,  by  the  grave-yard,  and  slept. 

"  Land's  sake,  did  n't  you  have  nothing  to  eat  ?" 

"  Sometimes — I  was  not  much  hungry,  my  heart 
ached  so  bad  ;  sometimes  the  children  gave  me  pieces 
of  bread  and  cake,  as  they  went  to  school." 

"What  did  you  do  all  day  at  your  mother's 
grave  ?" 

"  Talked  to  mamma." 

"  Land's  sake,  child,  dead  folks  can't  hear." 

"Can't  they?"  asked  Rose,  with  a  quivering  lip. 
"  Did  n't  my  mamma  hear  what  I  said  to  her  ?" 

"  In  course  not,"  answered  Timmins.  "  Why,  what 
a  chick  you  are.  If  you  were  n't  so  bright,  I  should 
think  you  was  an  idiot." 

"  What  are  you  crying  for  ?" 

Rose  kept  on  sobbing. 

"Come  now,  don't  take  on  so,"  said  the  uneasy 
Timmins,  "you  are  not  the  only  person  who  has 
had  a  hard  time  of  it.  I  was  a  little  girl  once." 

"  Were  you  ?"  asked  Rose,  wiping  her  eyes,  and 
surveying  Timmins's  Meg  Merrilees  proportions. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  Timmins,  laughing;  "just  as 


24  ROSE     CLARK. 

if  you  didn't  know  that  every  grown-up  woman  must 
have  been  a  little  girl  once.  Do  you  say  those  things 
a  purpose,  or  do  they  come  by  accident,  like  ?" 

"  Did  your  mother  die  ?"  asked  Rose,  not  appearing 
to  hear  Timmins's  last  question. 

"  Yes — and  father,  and  brother,  and  sister,  and  the 
hull  on  'em." 

"  Did  you  cry  ?" 

"  I  'spose  so ;  I  know  I  was  awful  hungry." 

"  But  did  you  cry  because  your  mother  was  dead  ?" 

"  Partly,  I  suppose." 

"When  you  went  to  bed,  did  you  think  you  saw 
her  face  with  a  cloud  all  around  it,  and  did  you  call 
'  Mother  ?'  and  did  the  eyes  look  sad  at  you,  but  stay 
Btill  where  they  were  ?  and  when  you  went  up  toward 
the  cloud  and  the  face,  did  it  all  go  away  ?" 

"  Lor',  no ;  how  you  talk,"  said  Timmins,  as  Rose's 
face  grew  still  paler.  "Don't — you  make  my  flesh 
creep." 

"  You  would  n't  be  afraid  of  your  own  dear  mamma, 
would  you  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"  Lor',  yes,  if  she  came  to  me  that  way,"  answered 
Timmins.  "It  is  n't  natur',  child ;  you  saw  a — a — ," 
and  Timmins  hesitated  to  pronounce  the  word  ghost. 

"  I  know  you  would  n't  run  away  from  it,  if  it  looked 
so  sweet  and  loving  at  you,"  said  Rose ;  "  but  why  did 
it  not  come  nearer  to  me?  and  why  did  it  all  fade 
away  when  I  put  out  my  arms  to  clasp  it  ?  Tftiat  made 


HOSE     CLAEK.  25 

me  think  it  could  n't  be  my  mamma,  after  all ;  and  yet 
it  was  mamma,  too,  but  so  pale  and  sad." 

"  Wall — I  don't  know,"  said  the  perplexed  Timmins ; 
"  you  are  beyend  me ;  I  don't  know  nothing  about 
sperrits,  and  I  don't  want  to ;  but  come  here ;  you  've 
been  asking  me  all  sorts  of  questions,  now  I  should  like 
to  ask  you  one." 

"  Well,"  said  Rose,  abstractedly. 

"What  on  airth  made  you  carry  on  so  like  sixty 
about  my  washing  you  ?  Don't  you  like  me  ?" 

"  Y — e — s,"  replied  Rose,  blushing  deeply. 

"  Wall,  then,  what  was  the  matter  with  you  ?  any 
scars  on  your  body,  or  any  thing  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Rose. 

"  What  did  ail  you,  then  ?  for  I  'm  curous  to  know ; 
why  did  n't  you  want  me  to  wash  you  ?" 

"It  made  me  feel  ashamed,"  said  Rose;  "nobody 
ever  washed  me  but  mamma ;  I  did  n't  mind  my 
mamma." 

"  Wall,  I  'm  beat  if  I  can  understand  that,"  said 
Timmins,  looking  meditatively  down  upon  the  carpet ; 
"  and  one  of  your  own  sect,  as  they  call  it,  too.  It 
seems  ridikilis ;  but  let  me  tell  you,  you  'd  better  make 
no  fuss  here ;  none  of  the  other  childern  does." 

"  Other  children  ?"  asked  Rose,  "  are  there  more 
children  here  ?  I  did  not  hear  any  noise  or  playing." 

"  No,  I  reckon  you  did  n't,"  said  Timmins,  laughing. 
("  I  wish  to  the  land  Mrs.  Markham  had  heard  you  say 

2 


26  KOSE     CLARK. 

that ;")  and  Timmins  laughed  again,  as  if  it  was  too 
good  a  joke  to  be  thrown  away  on  one  listener. 

"  Are  their  mothers  dead,  too,  Timmins  ?'v 

"I  dare  say — I  reckon  some  on  'em  don't  know 
much  who  their  fathers  and  mothers  was,"  said  Tim 
mins. 

"  They  had  some,  did  n't  they  ?" 

"  In  course,"  said  Timmins ;  "  why,  you  are  enough 
to  kill  old  folks ;  sometimes  you  are  away  beyend  me, 
and  sometimes  not  quite  up  to  me,  as  one  may  say,  but 
you  'd  better  shut  up  now,  for  Mrs.  Markham  will  be 
along  presently." 

"  Do  you  think  Mrs.  Markham  is  a  good  woman  ?" 
asked  Hose. 

"  About  as  good  as  you  've  seen,"  said  the  diploma 
tic  Timmins,  touching  the  cut  on  Rose's  temple ;  "  the 
quicker  you  mind  her  when  she  speaks,  the  better — 
that 's  all." 

"  Do  you  like  her  ?"  asked  Rose. 

"  No — sh — yes — why,  what  a  thing  you  are  to  make 
people  say  what  they  don't  mean  to.  I  like  you,  any 
how.  But  don't  you  never  act  as  if  I  did,  before  folks, 
because  my  hands  is  tied,  you  see." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Rose. 

"  Sh — sh — did  n't  I  tell  you  to  shut  up  ?  Somebody 
is  as  stealthy  as  a  cat ;"  apd  Timmins  looked  uneasily 
at  the  key-hole  of  the  door 


CHAPTER    II. 

ME.  BAJ.CH  was  a  bachelor  of  forty-five,  with  a  small 
fortune,  and  a  large  bump  of  credulity.  Like  all 
ancient  and  modern  bachelors,  he  liked  "  to  be  made 
of,"  and  Mrs.  Markham's  hawk  eye  discovered  this 
little  weakness,  and  turned  it  to  her  own  advantage. 
A  moneyed  man's  vote  on  a  committee  is  of  some  im 
portance,  and  Markham  had  an  eye  to  the  perpetuity 
of  her  salary ;  further  than  that,  we  have  no  right  to 
probe  the  secrets  of  her  unappropriated  heart. 

On  the  visit  in  question,  she  received  Mr.  Balch  very 
graciously,  inquired  with  great  solicitude  concerning 
his  rheumatism,  which  she  averred  was  quite  prevalent 
that  year  among  young  people;  gave  him  the  most 
eligible  seat  on  the  sofa,  and  apologized  for  having 
kept  him  waiting  so  long. 

"  Not  a  word,  my  dear  lady,  not  a  word,"  said  the 
pleased  Balch.  "  We  all  know  how  onerous  are  your 
duties,  and  how  indefatigably  conscientious  you  are  in 
the  performance  of  them.  It  was  spoken  of  at  the  last 
meeting  of  the  Board ;  I  wish  you  to  know  that  your 
services  ase  folly  appreciated  by  us." 


28  BOSE     CLARK. 

"  Oh !  thank  you — thank  you,  Mr.  Balch.  You  are 
too  kind.  None  of  us  can  say  that  we  are  insensible 
to  appreciation,  or  independent  of  our  fellow-creatures. 
It  is  particularly  grateful  to  me  in  my  lonely  condi 
tion"  (and  here  Markham  heaved  a  sigh  as  long  as  her 
corsets  would  allow  her,)  "  for  these  dear  little  orphans 
are  all  I  have  to  love,  and  I  think  I  may  say  I  have 
won  their  little  hearts." 

"  We  know  it,  we  all  know  it,  my  dear  lady ;  but 
you  must  not  allow  your  duties  to  press  too  heavily. 
I  thought  you  looked  over-weary  this  evening." 

"  Do  I  ?"  asked  Markham,  snapping  her  eyes  to 
make  them  look  brighter.  "Ah,  well — it  is  very 
likely — the  poor  little  darling  who  came  here  to-day, 
was  taken  in  a  fit.  I  find  she  is  subject  to  them,  and 
I  had  just  brought  her  safely  out  of  it,  when  I  came 
to  you.  One  can't  help  feeling  at  such  a  time,  you 
know,  unless  indeed,  one  is  a  stock,  or  a  stone,  and  my 
sensibilities  are  almost  too  acute  for  my  situation." 

"  Very  true,  my  dear  lady ;  but  for  our  sakes,  for 
my  sake,"  and  Mr.  Balch  lowered  his  tone,  "  do  try  to 
control  them,  though  to  me,  a  female  without  sensi 
bility  is  a — a — monster,  Mrs.  Markham." 

"  I  can't  conceive  of  it,"  said  that  lady,  in  extreme 
disgust. 

"No,  of  course  you  can  not;  how  should  you?" 
asked  Balch.  "I  wish  that  I — we — I — dared  say  how 
much  we  think  of  you." 


KOSE     CLAKK.  29 

"  Oh !"  said  Markham,  with  a  little  deprecatory 
waive  of  her  hand,  "  I  only  do  my  duty,  Mr.  Balch." 

"  Yes,  you  do — a  great  deal  more — much  more  than 
any  one  with  less  heart  would  think  of  doing;  you 
are  too  modest,  Mrs.  Markham ;  you  underrate  your 
self,  Mrs.  Markham  ;  I  shall  move  at  the  next  meeting 
of  the  Board  to  have  your  salary  raised,"  said  Balch, 
with  enthusiasm. 

"  Oh,  I  beg — I  beg" — said  Markham,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands — "  pray  don't,  Mr.  Balch — I  am 
not  at  all  mercenary." 

"  My  dear  lady,"  seizing  her  hands — "  as  if  we — I — 
we — could  think  so — and  of  you  f  I  shall  certainly 
propose  it  at  our  next  meeting,  and  if  the  Board 
haven't  the  means  to  do  it,  I  know  who  has;"  ani 
Balch  squeezed  Markham's  hand. 


CHAPTER   III. 

IN  a  large,  uncarpeted,  barren-looking  room,  round 
narrow  strips  of  table,  were  seated  Mrs.  Markham's 
collected  charge,  at  dinner.  Each  little  head  was  as 
closely  shaven  as  if  the  doctor  had  ordered  it  done  for 
blistering  purposes ;  and  each  little  form  was  closely 
swathed  in  indigo-blue  factory  cotton,  drawn  bag-fashion 
round  the  neck;  their  lack-luster  eyes,  stooping  forms, 
and  pale  faces,  telling  to  the  observant  eye  their  own 
eloquent  tale  of  suffering 

The  stereotyped  blessing  was  duly  mumbled  over  by 
Mrs.  Markham,  and  the  bread  and  molasses  distributed 
among  the  wooden  plates.  There  was  little  havoc 
made,  for  appetizing  fresh  air  and  exercise  had  been 
sparingly  dealt  out  by  Mrs.  Markham,  who  had  her 
reward  in  being  spoken  of,  in  the  Reports  of  the  Com 
mittee,  as  "a  most  economical,  trustworthy  person, 
every  way  qualified  for  her  important  position."  For 
all  that,  it  was  sad  to  see  the  hopeless,  weary  look  on 
those  subdued  faces,  and  to  listen  to  the  languid, 
monotonous  tone  in  which  they  replied  to  any  question 
addressed  them. 


EOSE     CLARK.  81 

Rose  sat  over  the  untasted  morsel,  looking  vainly 
from  one  face  to  another,  for  some  glance  of  sympathy 
for  the  new  comer. 

They  were  once  new  comers — some  long  since,  some 
more  newly ;  their  hearts,  too,  like  Rose's,  had  yearned 
for  sympathy ;  their  ears  ached,  as  did  hers,  for  one 
kind  tone;  but  that  was  all  past.  Many  suns  had 
risen  and  set  on  that  hopeless  search;  risen  and  set, 
but  never  on  their  sports  or  plays. 

The  moon  sometimes  looked  in  upon  them  asleep  in 
their  little  narrow  cots.  She  saw  the  bitter  waking 
from  some  mocking  dream  of  home.  She  saw  them 
spring  suddenly  from  their  couches,  as  they  dreamed 
that  the  inexorable  bell  summoned  them  to  rise.  She 
saw  them  murmuring  in  their  restless  slumbers,  the 
tasks  which  their  overworked  brains  had  failed  to  com 
mit,  and  for  which  their  much  abused  physiques  were 
held  responsible. 

Morning  came ;  no  eye  brightened  at  their  waking ; 
no  little  tongue  bade  a  silver-toned  'good-morrow;'  no 
little  foot  tripped  deftly  out  of  bed :  for  Markham  stood 
at  the  door — Markham  with  her  bell,  and  her  bunch  of 
keys,  and  her  ferule — Markham,  stern  and  immovable 
as  if  she  never  were  a  little  child,  or  as  if  God  had  for 
gotten,  when  he  made  her,  to  give  her  a  heart. 

And  so,  as  I  said  before,  Rose  sat  looking  round  the 
table,  over  her  untasted  food,  and  wondering  why  it 
was  the  children  looked  so  old,  so  different  from  any 


32  KOBE     CLARK. 

children  she  ever  saw  before;  and  then  she  thought 
that,  perhaps,  when  they  were  all  alone  together  (as  if 
the  hawk-eyed  Markham  would  ever  leave  them  alone 
together),  some  little  child  might  come  up,  and  put  its 
arm  around  her  neck,  and  pity  and  love  her.  But  day 
after  day  went  monotonously  by ;  they  all  went  speech 
less  to  dinner,  speechless  to  the  school-room,  speechless 
to  bed. 

Twice  a  day  they  were  walked  in  file  round  the 
paved  yard,  through  which  not  a  blade  of  grass  dared 
struggle;  walled  in  from  the  little  children  outside, 
whose  merry  laughs  and  shouts  startled  the  little  pris 
oners  as  if  those  tones  were  unnatural,  and  only  their 
listless  life  real.  As  evening  came  on,  they  sat  drow 
sily  stooping  over  their  tasks,  or  clicking  the  monoton 
ous  knitting-needle,  till  weary  lids  icoulcl  droop,  and 
tired  fingers  resumed  their  task  only  at  the  rap  from 
Markham's  ferule. 

Rose  saw  it  all  now — she  felt  it — the  torpor — gradu 
ally  creeping  over  her,  and  numbing  her  senses ;  she 
ceased  to  talk  about  her  mother.  She  did  mechanically 
what  she  was  bid;  and,  in  the  approving  words  of 
Markham,  was 

"  Quite  a  subdued  child." 

At  stated  times,  the  committee  came  in  to  look  at 
them,  and  remarked  how  inevitably  children  of  the 
lower  classes  inherited  poor  constitutions  from  their 
depraved  parents,  and  went  away  as  satisfied  as  if, 


ROSE     CLAF.K.  33 

granting  this  to  be  the  case,  they  were  humanely 
endeavoring  to  remedy  the  inherited  curse ;  as  if  they 
were  not  keeping  those  growing  limbs  in  overstrained 
positions  for  hours,  and  depriving  them  of  the  blessed 
air  and  sunshine,  which  God  intended  childhood  to 

revel  in  as  freely  as  the  birds  and  flowers. 

2* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

""WELL,  what  did  you  see  in  the   city,  Dolly?" 
asked  a  village  gossip  of  the  village  milliner. 

"  What  are  the  summer  fashions  ?  Any  thing  new  ? 
Flounces  worn,  I  suppose?  Always  will  be,  for  tall 
people,  they  are  so  becoming.  Mantillas  worn,  or 
shawls  ?  Do  they  trim  bonnets  with  flowers  or  rib 
bons  ?  Do  they  wear  heels  on  the  shoes  or  tread  spat 
down  on  the  pavement?  What  is  there  new  for 
sleeves?  I  am  going  to  have  a  ninepenny  calico 
made  up,  and  I  want  to  know  all  about  every  thing." 
-"  I  had  n't  as  much  time  to  look  round  as  I  wanted, 
not  by  half,"  answered  Dolly,  "  for  the  stores  are  full 
of  splendid  goods.  I  had  to  put  that  child  of  Maria's 
into  the  orphan  asylum.  People  began  to  talk  because 
I  did  n't  look  after  it.  I  am  sure  I  can't  support  it,  at 
least  not  till  it  is  big  enough  to  ^>ay,  by  helping  me  in 
the  shop  here.  People  always  die  just  at  the  wrong 
time.  If  Maria  had  only  waited  a  year  or  two,  now, 
till  that  young  one  had  grown  bigger;  and  if  she 
had  brought  her  up  to  be  good  for  any  thing  (she 
is  a  little  shy  kind  of  a  whimpering  thing,  no  more  life 


EOSE     CLARK.  35 

in  her  then  a  stick)  ;  but  I  don't  intend  her  living  shall 
come  out  of  me.  I  have  worked  hard  for  what  money 
I  have,  and  I  know  how  to  keep  it.  She  shall  stay  at 
that  asylum  till  she  is  big  enough  to  help  me,  as  I  said 
before,  and  then  she  must  work  enough  here  to  pay 
for  her  bread  and  butter." 

"That's  it,"  said  Miss  Kip.  "People  who  can't 
live  to  take  care  of  children  have  no  business  to  have 
them,  that  is  my  creed.  Was  your  sister  like  you, 
Dolly?" 

"  Xo ;  I  guess  she  was  n't.  She  was  after  every 
book  she  could  find,  before  she  could  speak  plain,  and 
when  she  got  hold  of  one,  you  might  fire  off  a  pistol 
in  the  room,  and  she  would  n't  hear  it.  She  crammed 
her  head  inside,  and  I  crammed  mine  outside,"  said 
Dolly,  laughing ;  "  for  I  had  a  real  milliner's  knack  be 
fore  I  left  off  pantalettes.  Why,  you  never  saw  any 
thing  like  our  Maria.  She  went  and  sold  the  only  silk 
gown  she  had  to  buy  a  grammar  and  dictionary,  to 
learn  what  she  acknowledged  was  a  dead  language." 

"  What  a  fool !"  exclaimed  Miss  Kip. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Dolly ;  "  letting  alone  the  gown, 
which  was  bran  new,  what  was  the  use  of  her  learning 
a  language  that  was  dead  and  out  of  fashion? 
Well,  there  was  a  Professor  Clark,  who  used  to 
come  to  see  her,  and  you  ought  to  have  heard  the 
heathenish  noises  they  made  with  that  'dead  lan 
guage,'  as  they  called  it;  it  was  perfectly  ridikilis. 


36  HOSE     CLAKK. 

He  said  Maria  was  an  extraordinary  girl !  as  if  that 
was  any  news,  when  every  body  knew  she  never  did 
any  thing  like  other  folks.  Why,  she  'd  pretend  she 
saw  bears,  and  dippers,  and  pie — pleasure-rides,  I  be 
lieve  she  called  them,  up  among  the  stars." 

"  What  a  fool !"  exclaimed  Kip,  again. 

"  Yes ;  and  she  said  the  earth  was  round  and  hol 
low,  just  as  if  any  of  us  could  live  in  safety,  hanging 
on  the  outside  of  an  egg-shell,  and  it  turning  round  all 
the  time,  too — it  was  ridildlis ! 

"Well,  Professor  Clark  married  her,  and  their  house 
was  fixed  up  with  books,  and  pictures,  and  every  thing 
of  that  sort  which  Maria  liked.  I  never  went  to  see 
them,  for  they  never  talked  about  any  thing  that  in 
terested  me.  Maria  did  n't  care  a  penny  whether  her 
bonnet  was  an  old  or  a  new  one,  so  long  as  it  was 
clean  and  whole.  She  had  no  eyes  nor  ears  for  any 
thing  but  her  books  and  her  husband,  till  that  child 
was  born,  and  then  she  acted  just  so  about  that. 
When  it  was  five  years  old,  its  father  died,  and  then 
nothing  would  do  but  Maria  must  go  after  him,  as 
if  there  was  nobody  in  the  world  worth  looking  at  but 
Professor  Clark.  She  might  have  got  married  again, 
and  then  I  should  not  have  had  that  child  to  look 
after.  I  know  she  will  turn  out  just  like  her  mother. 
She  looks  just  like  her,  and  has  all  her  superfine,  good- 
for-nothing  lady  ways  already. 

— "  No,  I  did  not  have  any  time  at  all  to  look  after 


ROSE     CLARK.  3Y 

the  fashions  in  the  city.  The  things  there  are  enough 
to  drive  you  distracted.  Such  beautiful  big  plaid  and 
striped  silks ;  such  gay  trimmings,  and  bright  shawls. 
I  declare  every  thing  looks  so  homely  here  in  this 
village,  when  I  come  back,  that  I  am  perfectly  dis 
gusted.  Those  old  poke  bonnets  of  the  Cramm  girls, 
trimmed  with  that  pink  ribbon  they  have  worn  two 
seasons,  and  Mrs.  Munroe's  rusty-looking  black  man 
tilla — it  is  perfectly  disgusting." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  the  sympathizing  Kip,  "  I  am  tired 
to  death  of  them,  myself.  I  really  wonder,  Dolly, 
you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  stay  here  in  this  dull 
place.  Why  don't  you  move  into  the  city  ?" 

"Perhaps,  I  shall,  one  of  these  days,"  said  Dolly, 
with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  I  feel  as  though  I  was  born 
to  better  things.  It  is  dull  work  for  a  woman  to  live 
all  her  life  alone." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Kip,  disconsolately. 

"  There  are  men  enough  in  the  world,  no  doubt  of 
that,"  said  Dolly,  "  and  when  I  go  about  with  them, 
in  the  city,  I  quite  enjoy  it;  but  one  sees  nothing 
here,  except  frogs  and  crickets;  it  is  perfectly  dis 
gusting." 

"  So  it  is,"  chimed  Kip ;  "  and  such  splendid  moon 
light-nights  as  we  have,  too,  and  such  nice  places  to 
walk." 

"  Yes,  but  to  walk  with  a  woman  /"  said  Dolly.  "  I 
like  you  very  well,  Kip ;  but  when  one  has  had  gentle- 


88  ROSE     CLARK. 

men's  society,  it  is  like  swallowing  the  parings,  after 
having  eaten  the  peach." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Kip  (quite  willing  in  such  a  cause  to 
be  tossed  unceremoniously  among  the  parings). 

"  "Well,  it  is  just  here,"  said  Dolly,  "  I  will  own  it  to 
you.  Kip,  I  mean  to  get  married !" 

"  You  don't !"  screamed  Kip ;  "  to  whom  ?" 

"  Lord  knows,  I  don't,  but  I  feel  sure  I  shall  do  it." 

"  How  ?"  asked  Kip,  with  great  interest. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  said  Dolly ;  "  see  if  I  don't  live 
in  the  city  before  long.  Such  times  as  they  have 
there!  Theaters,  concerts,  shows,  balls,  and  every 
body  so  pleased  with  every  body ;  such  a  delightful 
noise  and  bustle  and  racket.  And  just  look  round  this 
village !  you  might  hear  the  town  clock  tick ;  it  is  per 
fectly  digusting.  There  is  not  a  man  in  it,  of  any  ac 
count,  but  Sprigg's  the  blacksmith,  and  he  has  but  one 
foot ;  sometimes  I  want  to  scream." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Kip. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MES.  MAEKHAM  sat  in  her  private  parlor,  comfort 
ably  sipping  her  tea.  Whatever  might  be  said  of  the 
children's  bill  of  fare,  there  was  nothing  meager  about 
hers.  No  Chinaman's  tongue  was  ever  a  safer  tea 
detector  than  Markham's.  No  spurious  mixture  found 
a  place  in  her  tea-caddy ;  no  water-pot  was  allowed  to 
wash  away  its  strength  when  made.  The  warm 
biscuit  were  as  fragrant  as  the  tea,  and  the  butter 
might  have  won  the  prize  at  any  agricultural  fair. 
The  room  too,  in  which  the  tea-table  was  spread,  had 
every  appliance  for  the  consolation  of  a  single 
woman.  Comfortably  plump  sofas  and  chairs,  a  look 
ing-glass,  selected  for  its  peculiar  faculty  of  adding 
breadth  to  an  unnecessarily  elongated  face ;  a  hand 
some,  well-filled  bottle  of  Cologne,  another  of  Bay 
Water,  and  a  work-box,  with  all  sorts  of  industrial  ap 
pendages,  the  gift  of  Mr.  Balch.  Then,  for  the  look  of 
the  thing,  a  few  books,  newspapers,  pamphlets,  etc.,  for 
Mrs.  Markham  never  read ;  partly  because  she  had  a 
surfeit  in  the  book  line  in  the  school-room,  but  prin 
cipally,  because  publishers  and  editors  had  a  sad  way 


40  BOSE     CLARK. 

of  making  their  types  so  indistinct  now-a-days ;  or  in 
other  words,  Markham  had  a  strong  aversion  to  spec 
tacles. 

There  were  no  pictures  or  flowers  in  the  room,  be 
cause  the  former  "  marked  the  walls,"  and  the  latter 
"  kept  dropping  their  leaves  on  the  carpet ;"  but  there 
were  two  smart,  gilt  candelabras  on  the  mantle,  and  a 
small  clock  between  them,  and  an  hour  glass,  and  a 
stuffed  owl.  There  was  also  a  light  kid  glove,  which 
always  lay  there,  because  it  served  for  a  text  for  Mr. 
Balch's  little  complimentary  speeches  about  hands  and 
hearts,  and  pairs,  etc.  Mrs.  Markham  was  always 
going  to  put  it  away,  but  somehow  she  never  did  so. 

"  Ah,  Timmins,  is  that  you  ?  come  in.   Is  Tibbs  any  bet 
ter,"  asked  Mrs.  Markham,  comfortably  sipping  her  tea. 

"  No  ma'm,  she 's  awful ;  her  wrists  look  as  if  they 
would  snap  in  two ;  and  her  neck  looks  so  slender ; 
and  her  head  so  big.  Oh,  she 's  a  sight,  ma'am." 

"  Pooh,  you  are  always  sight-seeing,  Timmins ;  the 
child  always  had  a  miserable  constitution.  As  the 
committee  say,  it  is  not  much  use  to  try  to  rear  these 
children ;  the  seeds  of  disease  are  in  them." 

"Well,  Tibbs  is  going  fast  enough,  that's  certain. 
She 's  mostly  stupid-like,  but  now  and  then  she  smiles 
and  reaches  out  her  arms,  for  all  the  world  as  if  she 
saw  the  angels,  and  wanted  them  to  come  and  take  her." 

"  What  nonsense,  Timmins.  Hand  me  that  toast. 
Just  as  if  a  pauper-child  would  have  such  notions." 


ROSE     CLAEK.  41 

"  Well,  ma'am,  if  you  only  would  stay  long  enough 
by  the  child,  you  3d  see  it ;  it  is  awful  to  watch  with 
her  all  alone." 

"  Afraid  of  a  sick  child,"  said  Mrs.  Markham,  pour 
ing  out  another  cup  of  hyson. 

"  No,  not  the  child  exactly — Tibbs  is  a  good  little 
thing ;  but  the  sperrets,  about  the  room.  I  do 
believe,"  said  Timmins,  solemnly,  "that  sperrets  are 
ah1  round  these  childern.  You  don't  see  things  as  I 
do,  Mrs.  Markham." 

"  I  hope  I  don't,"  answered  that  lady,  laughing,  as 
she  pushed  back  her  empty  cup.  "  A  pretty  matron  I 
should  make,  filled  with  such  fanciful  whims;  and  a 
great  while  the  committee  would  keep  me." 

"Perhaps  so,"  answered  Timmins.  "Sometimes  I 
think—" 

"  What  ?"  asked  Markham. 

"  And  then  again  I  don't  know,"  said  the  perplexed 
Timmins  ;  "  but  I  must  run  back  to  Tibbs — if  you  only 
would  look  in  on  her,  Mrs.  Markham,"  said  Timmins 
beseechingly,  as  she  closed  the  door. 


While  the  above  conversation  was  passing,  the  film 
gathered  slowly  over  little  Tibbs's  eyes ;  the  feet  and 
hands  grew  colder — colder ;  drops  of  moisture  gath 
ered  on  the  marble  temples ;  the  lips  moved,  but  no 
sound  came ;  a  conviilsive  spasm  shook  the  slight  form, 


42  ROSE     CLARK. 

and  little  Tibbs  was  dead !  None  stood  by  to  hold  the 
feeble  hand,  or  wipe  the  gathering  death-damp  from 
the  pale  lips  and  brow.  No  warm  breath  was  proof 
to  the  dimmed  eye  and  dulled  ear  of  Love's  dear 
presence. 

Tibbs  died  alone. 

And  yet  not  alone,  for  He  who  loveth  little  chil 
dren,  folded  her  to  His  bosom. 

"  It  is  quite  time  she  took  her  drops,"  said  Timmins, 
re-entering  the  room  ;  and  holding  the  phial  up  to  the 
light,  and  placing  a  spoon  under  its  inouth,  she  com 
menced  counting,  "  One  —  two  —  three  —  four —  here 
Tibbie. 

"What!" 

The  horror-struck  Timmins  darted  through  the  door, 
and  back  to  Mrs.  Markham. 

"  Oh,  ma'am  —  oh,  ma'am — she 's  gone — ah1  alone, 
too — oh,  Mrs.  Markham — " 

"  Who 's  gone  ?  what  are  you  talking  about,  Tim- 
mons  ?" 

"  Tibbs,  ma'am — Tibbs — while  I  was  down  here  talk 
ing  to  you — and  all  alone,  too — oh  dear — oh  dear — " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Timmins ;  as  if  your  being 
there  would  have  done  any  good  ?" 

"  Don't  you  think  so,  ma'am  ?"  asked  the  relieved 
Timmins. 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  the  child's  time  had  come — it 


ROSE     CLARK.  43 

is  all  well  enough ;  you  could  n't  have  helped  it.  Call 
"Watkius,  and  tell  her  to  go  lay  her  out.  I  will  be  up 
when  I  have  taken  my  nap.  You  stay  there  till  Wat- 
kins  has  done,  and  then  lock  the  door  and  take  the 
key.  What  o'clock  is  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Timmins.  "  Are  you  sure 
it  was  just  as  well  for  Tibbs  to  die  alone  ?  I  hope  I 
shan't  die  alone."  Should  you  like  to  die  alone,  Mrs. 
Markham  ?" 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  answered  Mrs. 
Markham,  angrily  ;  "  go  along,  Timmins,  and  don't 
make  a  fool  of  yourself." 

"  Poor  thing  !  poor  thing  !"  exclaimed  Watkins,  as 
she  untied  little  Tibbs's  night-dress  to  wash  her  thin 
limbs,  "  her  sufferings  are  over.  I  tell  you,  Timmins, 
there  '11  be  a  long  reckoning  for  this  some  day.  I  had 
rather  be  Tibbs  here  than  Mrs.  Markham.  She  is  n't 
a  sparrow's  weight,"  said  Watkins,  lifting  the  child. 
"Was  she  sensible  Avhen  she  died,  Timmins?" 

"  Don't  ask  me — don't  ask  me.  Oh,  Watkins,  could 
I  help  it?  I  ran  down  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Markham, 
and — and — " 

"  She  did  n't  die  alone  ?"  asked  the  horror-struck 
Watkins,  laying  the  corpse  back  upon  the  pillow. 

Timmins  nodded  her  head,  and  sat  rocking  hez* 
figure  to  and  fro. 

"  Now,  don't  say  a  word — don't  say  a  word,"  said 


44  ROSE     CLARK. 

Timmins,  "  I  know  I  shall  be  punished  for  it ;  but  in 
deed  I  didn't  mean  no  harm.  I  can't  stay  much 
longer  hi  this  house,  Watkins." 

"Watkins  made  no  reply,  except  by  slow  shakes  of 
the  head,  as  she  drew  on  the  little  charity  night-dress 
which  was  to  answer  for  a  shroud,  smoothed  the  soft 
silken  hair,  and  folded  the  small  hands  over  the  weary 
little  heart. 

"  Do  you  know  a  prayer,  Watkins  ?"  asked  Timmins, 
looking  at  the  dead  child. 

"  I  know  '  Our  Father,' "  replied  Watkins,  smooth 
ing  a  fold  in  the  shroud. 

"  Say  it,"  said  Timmins,  reverently ;  "  it  won't  do 
her  no  good,  but  it  will  me." 

"  Our  Father " 

"  Got  all  through  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Markham,  throwing 
open  the  door ;  "  that 's  all  right.  Now  spread  the 
sheet  over  her  face — open  the  window — lock  the  door, 
and  give  me  the  key." 

"Won't  you  come  in,  ma'am,  and  look  at  the 
child  ?"  asked  Watkins,  stepping  one  side. 

"  No,  it  don't  signify ;  you  washed  her  and  all  that, 
I  suppose.  Come  out,  Timmins;  and  you,  Watkins, 
run  for  the  undertaker — the  sooner  the  child  is  taken 
away  the  better ;  it  is  not  healthy  to  have  a  corpse  in 
the  house,"  and  Mrs.  Markham  applied  her  smelling- 
salts  to  her  nose. 

Watkins  tied  on  her  bonnet,  and  went  sorrowfully 
down  street  for  the  undertaker. 


•CHAPTER  VI. 

MB.  PALL  prided  himself  on  the  reverent  manner  in 
which  he  performed  his  necessary  funereal  duties.  He 
always  dressed  in  black,  and  sat,  handkerchief  in  hand, 
in  the  middle  of  his  coffin  ware-room,  in  a  prepared 
state  of  mind  to  receive  customers. 

He  had  every  variety  of  coffin — from  plain  pine- 
wood  up  to  the  most  polished  mahogany  and  rosewood. 
His  latest  invention  was  "  the  casket,"  daintly  lined 
throughout  with  white  satin,  and  the  lid  so  constructed 
as  to  expose  the  whole  person  instead  of  the  face  only, 
as  in  more  common  coffins.  This  was  what  Mr.  Pall 
called  "a  dress  coffin,"  and  was  perfectly  consistent 
with  any  variety  of  adornment  in  the  shroud  that  the 
fancy  of  grief-stricken  affection  might  suggest. 

When  Watkins  entered,  Mr.  Pall  sat  complacently 
in  his  chair  amid  his  piles  of  coffins,  with  his  hands 
solemnly  folded  over  his  handkerchief.  He  would 
have  scorned  to  disgrace  his  profession,  like  marry 
others  of  the  craft,  by  reading  the  newspapers  in  his 
sanctum,  smoking  a  cigar,  or  in  any  other  way  convey 
ing  the  idea  that  he  had  lost  sight  of  his  mournful  call- 


46  ROSE     CLARK. 

ing.  We  are  not  bound,  therefore,  to  believe,  on  the 
authority  of  a  prying  policeman's  limited  vision  through 
the  key-hole,  that  when  the  shop  was  closed,  Mr.  Pall 
nightly  drew  from  an  old-fashioned  coffin  a  bottle  of 
whisky  and  a  box  of  cigars,  wherewith  to  console  him 
self  for  the  day's  solemn  and  self-inflicted  penance. 

"Good  morning,  m-a-a-m,"  drawled  the  dolorous 
Pall. 

"  'Hark !  from  the  tombs  a  doleful  sound, 
Mine  ears  attend  the  cry.' 

"  Want  my  mournful  services,  ma'am  ?  I  shall 
take  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  showing  you  my  coffins. 
Age  of  the  corpse,  ma'am  ?"  and  Pall  used  his  white 
handkerchief. 

"  Six  years." 

"'Death  strikes  down  all, 
Both  great  and  small — ' 

"Place  of  residence,  ma'am? 

"  Orphan  Asylum,  eh  ?"  repeated  the  disappointed 
Pall,  as  his  vision  of  the  costly  casket  pattern  faded 
away;  "pine  coffin,  of  course — no  satin  lining  or 
silver  nails — no  carriages — night  burial,  Potters'  Field, 
etc. 

%  "'Lie  in  the  dust, 

"We  all  must.' 

"Tell  the  afflicted  matron  of  the  Orphan  Asylum. 


ROSE     CLAKK.  47 

that  I  will  send  up  directly  and  take  the  deceased 
child's  measure." 

And  Pall  flourished  his  white  handkerchief  as  long 
as  was  consistent  with  the  demise  of  a  charity  orphan, 
and  the  small  sum  invested  in  the  pine  coffin. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

IT  was  the  day  for  the  committee  to  make  their 
stated  visit  of  examination  at  the  Asylum.  Timmins 
had  swept  the  school-room  floor  very  carefully, 
scoured  off  the  black-board,  dusted  the  benches,  and 
placed  a  bunch  of  flowers  on  Mrs.  Markham's  desk, 
just  as  that  lady  entered  on  her  tour  of  inspection. 

"  How  on  earth  came  that  green  trash  on  my 
desk  ?"  asked  the  offended  matron. 

"  I  did  it,  ma'am,  to  make  it  look  kind  o'  cheerful 
like ;"  said  Timmins,  a  little  abashed  at  exhibiting  such 
a  weakness  in  such  an  august  presence.  "  It  looks  so  dry 
and  hard  here,  and  children,  poor  things,  is  fond  of 
flowers,"  and  Timmins  sighed  as  she  thought  of  poor 
Tibbie. 

"  Are  you  in  your  dotage,  Timmins,  to  bring  such 
a  frivolous  thing  as  a  bouquet  into  a  school-room? 
who  ever  heard  of  such  a  folly  ?"  and  Mrs.  Markham 
sent  it  spinning  through  the  nearest  window. 

Timmins  sighed  again,  and  rubbed]  off  one  of  the 
benches  with  a  corner  of  her  apron ;  then,  looking  up 
as  if  a  bright  thought  had  struck  her,  she  said : 


.ROSE     CLAftK.  49 

"They  say,  ma'am,  that  this  world  is  nothing  but  a 
school  for  us,  and  yet  God  has  strewn  flowers  all  over 
it.  lie  must  have  done  it  for  something." 

"Pshaw!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Markham,  in  extreme 
disgust ;  "  go,  bring  in  the  chairs  for  the  committee, 
and  then  ring  the  bell  for  the  children." 

Clang — clang — clang  went  the  bell,  and  in  wound 
the  mournful  procession ;  all  habited  alike,  all  with  the 
same  listless  air,  flabby-looking  limbs,  and  leaden  com 
plexions. 

"Seems  to  me  you  look  uncommonly  stupid,"  re 
marked  the  matron,  by  way  of  encouragement  to  the 
children ;  "  see  if  you  can't  throw  a  little  animation 
into  your  faces." 

The  poor  little  victims  stared  open  their  eyes,  and 
made  an  ineffectual  attempt  at  a  smile,  more  painful 
to  witness  than  their  former  listlessness. 

"  Stand  up  straighter,  can't  you  ?" 

The  little  crooked  spines  made  a  feeble  and  in 
effectual  attempt  to  remedy  the  irreparable  injury 
Mrs.  Markham  had  inflicted  upon  them. 

"  Now,  let  every  toe  touch  that  crack  on  the  floor. 

"  ISTow,  cross  your  arms  behind,  every  one  of  you. 

"There — don't  you  stir  a  hair  till  the  committee 
come  in ;  it  is  now  eleven ;  they  will  be  here  at  quarter 
before  twelve ;  now  mind  what  I  tell  you  about  throw 
ing  a  little  animation  into  your  faces;"  and  Mrs 

3 


50  KOBE     CLAJSK. 

Markham  having  laid  the  ferule  in  sight,  seated  her 
self  in  an  easy  position  in  a  very  comfortable  chair, 
put  a  checkerberry  lozenge  in  her  month,  and  pre 
pared  herself  to  punish  the  first  child  whose  over 
strained  limbs  relaxed  from  weariness. 

Every  one  knows  how  much  more  easily  one  can 
walk  a  mile  than  stand  perfectly  still,  in  the  same 
position,  for  fifteen  minutes ;  and  no  one  who  has  ever 
seen  the  martyrdom  which  restless  childhood  is  com 
pelled  to  undergo,  in  this  respect  (even  in  our  best 
schools),  sometimes  in  the  scorching  vicinity  of  a  red- 
hot  stove,  sometimes  in  a  shivering  draught,  for  an 
hour  or  more,  while  the  teacher,  comfortably  seated, 
leisurely  experiments  upon  their  intellects,  can  help 
wishing  that  he  might  have  it  in  his  power  to  subject 
thoughtless  teachers,  and  as  thoughtlessly  criminal 
parents,  to  the  same  daily  and  intolerable  torture; 
can  help  wishing  that,  having  placed  them  in  such 
positions,  he  could  have  liberty  to  punish  them  for  the 
non-committal  of  tasks  which  their  aching  heads  and 
limbs  have  rendered  impossible. 

Let  every  parent  satisfy  himself  or  herself,  by  per 
sonal  inspection,  with  regard  to  these  things ;  not  on 
farce  exhibition  days,  but  by  unexpected  calls,  at  such 
times  as  he  or  she  may  see  fit;  and  let  any  teacher 
who  would  debar  a  parent  from  such  an  inalienable 
right,  be  deposed  from  his  station. 

Many  a  grave  now  filled  with  moldering  dust  would 


ROSE     CLARK.  51 

have  been  tennntless,  had  parents,  not  trusting  to  show- 
circulars,  satisfied  themselves  on  these  points,  instead 
of  merely  paying  the  term-bills  when  due. 

"  Rose !" 

The  little  drooping  head  righted  itself;  the  child 
had  fallen  asleep  ;  a  thump  on  the  head  with  the  ever- 
ready  ferule  brought  on  a  head-ache,  which  rendered  a 
repetition  of  the  offense  improbable. 

"  Quarter  before  twelve." 

Markham  slides  her  little  gold  watch  back  under  her 
basque.  The  committee  have  arrived.  Now  she  smiles 
all  over.  Her  hypocritical  voice  is  pitched  to  the 
company  key.  She  glides  round  the  benches,  and 
calls  to  "Rose,  dear,"  and  "Mabel,  dear,"  and  "Anna, 
dear,"  patting  them  on  their  shrinking  shoulders  with 
her  serpent  touch. 

JSTow  one  of  the  committee  makes  a  prayer,  and 
thanks  God  that  these  dear  children,  rescued  from 
sinks  of  pollution  and  crime,  and  from  depraved 
parents,  have  here  found  a  Christian  home,  under  the 
guardianship  of  a  mother  in  Israel ;  he  prays  that  God 
will  reward  her  abundantly  for  her  self-sacrificing  de 
votion  to  them,  and  that  the  children  may  feel  un- 
feignedly  grateful  for  all  their  blessings. 

The  committee  then  seat  themselves,  and  Markham 
asks  a  list  of  questions,  cut  and  dried  beforehand,  to 
which  parrot  tongues  respond.  The  children  then 
wail  out  a  hymn,  composed  by  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Mark- 


52  ROSE     CLARK. 

ham's  in  which  they  are  made  to  express  to  that  lady 
their  affectionate  gratitude,  as  well  as  to  the  philan 
thropic  and  discriminating  committee  present,  who 
blow  their  noses  sympathetically,  and  wipe  their  spec 
tacles.  The  children  are  then  dismissed  to  their  bread 
and  molasses,  and  so  the  farce  ends. 

(Pity,  that  the  munificent  bequests  of  great  and 
good  men  to  such  institutions  as  these,  should,  for 
want  of  a  little  investigation,  sometimes  be  so  sadly 
misappropriated.) 

The  next  day  the  readers  of  The  Morning  Budget 
are  informed,  with  a  pretty  show  of  statistics,  of  the 
nourishing  condition  of  that  humane  institution  the 
CHARITY  ORPHAN  ASYLUM,  and  of  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  well-to-do-a-tiveness  of  its  inmates,  under  the 
judicious  supervision  of  its  energetic,  self-denying,  and 
Christian  matron,  Mrs.  Clara  Markham ;  who  forth 
with  orders  a  dozen  copies  of  The  Morning  Budget, 
which  she  distributes  among  her  friends,  reserving  one 
for  a  fixture  on  her  parlor  table,  to  edify  chance  visitors. 

Meanwhile  little  Tibbie  sleeps  peacefully  in  her  pine 
coffin  in  the  Potters  Field,  and  Rose  sits  up  in  her  little 
cot,  while  all  around  her  sleep,  and  stretches  out  her 
imploring  arms  to  the  peaceful  stars  that  shimmer 
through  the  window. 

On  the  evening  of  examination-day,  Mr.  Balch,  as 
usual,  takes  his  leave  wifch  the  rest  of  the  committee, 
but  after  seeing  them  safely  round  the  corner,  returns 


EOSE     CLAEK.  53 

as  usual,  to  tea  with  Markham  in  the  cosy  little  parlor; 
and  Markham  smiles  on  him  as  only  an  unappropriated 
elderly  female  knows  how ;  and  Mr.  Balch,  what  with 
the  smile  and  the  Hyson,  considers  Webster  and  Wor 
cester  united  too  meager  to  express  his  feelings,  and 
falls  back  upon  Markham's  hand,  upon  which  he  makes 
an  unmistakable  record  of  his  bachelor  emotions. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

"MERCY  on  us!  you  don't  expect  me  to  sleep  in 
that  room,  do  you  ?"  asked  Timmins  of  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham,  as  they  stopped  before  the  door  of  the  room 
where  little  Tibbie  died. 

"I  wouldn't  do  it  for  a  purse  of  gold.  I  know  I 
should  see  her  ghost;  oh,  it  would  be  awful;"  and 
Timmins  put  her  hands  before  her  face,  as  if  the  ghost 
were  looming  up  in  the  depths  of  the  dimly-lighted 
entry. 

"  Nonsense !"  said  Mrs.  Markham ;  "  how  supersti 
tious  you  are !  I  am  going  to  sleep  there  with  you." 

"Are  you?  Well,  that  alters  the  case,"  and  Mrs. 
Markham  led  the  way,  while  Timmins  followed  her 
with,  distended  eyes. 

"  I  really  can't  help  thinking  she  will  come  back," 
said  Timmins,  as  Mrs.  Markham  extinguished  the  light 
and  crept  into  bed.  "I  can't  seem  to  get  over  it, 
about  her  dying  all  alone.  How  very  thin  she  was. 
Did  you  ever  think  she  was  unhappy,  Mrs.  Markham  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  any  thing  about  it,  Timmins.  I  go 
to  bed  for  the  purpose  of  sleeping ;"  and  turning  her 


ROSE     CLARK.  55 

back  upon  Timmins,  she  buried  her  frilled  night-cap  in 
the  pillow. 

"Don't  cuddle  up  so  close,  Timmins,"  said  Mrs. 
Markham,  about  ten  minutes  after;  "you  make  me 
insufferably  hot." 

"  Lor',  ma'am,  I  can't  help  it ;  I  can't  see  nothing, 
and  you  won't  speak  to  me,  and  how  am  I  going  to 
know  that  you  are  there  ?" 

"Guess  at  it,"  said  Markham,  giving  another 
hitch  away  toward  the  wall,  and  soon  her  sonor 
ous  breathing  announced  her  departure  to  the  land  of 
dreams. 

"  Goodness  alive  !  if  she  ain't  asleep,"  said  Timmins ; 
"  what  if  Tibbie  should  come  back  ?  Oh  dear !  I  am 
sure  I  am  sorry  enough  I  left  her  so.  I'll  put  my 
head  under  the  bed-clothes.  No  I  won't — because  if 
it  is  coming,  Mrs.  Markham  must  wake  up,  for  I 
shan't  be  good  for  nothing ;  I  never  spoke  to  a  ghost 
in  my  life." 

"  What 's — that  ?"  she  whispered  hoarsely,  as,  by 
the  dim  light  of  the  street-lamp  on  the  window-glass, 
she  saw  the  door  open  slowly,  and  a  little  figure 
dressed  in  white,  glide  in.  "  Oh  Lor' — oh  Mrs.  Mark- 
ham — (griping  that  lady  by  the  arm) — it 's  come ! 
Hist — there — there — oh — oh,  it 's  coming  here,"  whis 
pered  Timmins,  as  Mrs.  Markham,  now  thoroughly 
roused,  trembled  as  violently  as  Timmins,  and  both 
made  a  shuddering  plunge  under  the  bed-clothes. 


56  KOSECLAKK. 

"  You  look  out,  Timmins  ?" 

"No — you,  Mrs.  Markham!"  and  both  night-caps 
were  thrust  carefully  from  under  the  sides  of  the 
raised  sheets. 

There  was  the  little  figure — it  was  no  illusion — flit 
ting,  gliding  about  the  room ;  now  here,  now  more 
distant,  and  now,  with  its  pale,  wan  face  and  out 
stretched  arms,  it  approaches  the  bed.  Timmins  and 
Markham  both  jump  shrieking  from  it  through  the 
door,  and  fall  senseless  upon  the  entry  floor. 

The  wicked  flee  when  none  pursueth. 

Poor  innocent  little  Rose !  Waked  suddenly  from  her 
somnambulistic  sleep,  she  stands  gazing  about  her, 
the  unconscious  avenger  of  little  Tibbie's  sufferings, 
and  her  own. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

YEAES  pass  on.  Some  of  the  children  have  been 
bound  out,  others  Death  has  more  mercifully  indent 
ured  into  his  own  service.  Rose  has  grown  tall.  Her 
step  is  slow  and  feeble,  and  her  form  has  lost  its 
roundness ;  but  her  eyes  are  beautiful  from  the  light 
within,  and  her  wee  mouth  has  a  grieved  look  which 
makes  the  beholder  long  to  clasp  her  to  his  heart. 
Even  the  ugly  charity-school  bonnet  which  Marldiam 
has  just  tied  under  her  chin,  can  not  make  her  look 
ugly. 

Dolly  stands  waiting  to  take  her  to  Difftown ;  she 
has  no  bundle  to  pack  up,  she  has  no  regrets  at  leaving 
the  Asylum,  she  has  no  hope  for  the  future,  for  she  has 
looked  into  Dolly's  face  with  her  clear  calm  eyes,  and 
read  her  doom. 

"  Rose,  come  and  kiss  me,  darling,  before  you  go," 
said  Markham.  "I  always  feel  so  melancholy,"  she 
added,  in  an  aside,  to  Dolly,  "  at  parting  with  these 
dear  children.  It  is  quite  impossible  not  to  feel  a 
motherly  interest  and  solicitude  after  being  with  them 
so  long.  Good-by,  dear  Rose — don't  quite  forget  me." 
3* 


58  EOSE     CLARK. 

iiose  thought  there  was  little  fear  of  that,  as  she 
followed  Dolly  out  of  the  house. 

"  A  very  nice  woman,  that  Mrs.  Markham,"  said 
Dolly,  as  they  walked  to  the  stable  where  she  had  left 
her  horse  and  chaise,  "  a  very  nice  woman." 

Rose  made  no  reply. 

"  I  dare  say  though,  you  don't  like  her  at  all,  do 
you  ?" 

"  JSTo,"  said  Rose. 

"  Why  not,  I  should  like  to  know  ?"  asked  Dolly, 
tartly. 

"I  had  rather  not  tell,  if  you  please,"  answered 
Hose. 

The  civil  manner  in  which  the  refusal  was  couched 
irritated  Dolly. 

"  You  are  as  like  your  mother  as  two  peas,"  said  she, 
angrily ;  "  you  look  just  like  her,  and  speak  just  like 
her." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  asked  the  child,  her  whole  face 
brightening. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  should  look  so  pleased  about 
it.  Maria  was  a  thriftless  creature.  "No  learning  but 
book  learning." 

"Please  don't  speak  so  of  my  mamma,"  and  the 
tears  stood  in  Rose's  eyes. 

"  I  shall  speak  just  as  I  please  of  her,"  said  Dolly  ; 
"  she  was  my  sister  before  she  was  your  mother,  by  a 
long  spell,  and  I  don't  know  why  I  am  bound  to  love 


ROSECLAKK.  59 

*aer  for  tliat  reason,  when  there  was  nothing  to  love  in 
her." 

"  But  there  was,"  said  Rose.  "  She  was  sweet,  and 
gentle,  and  loving,  and  oh,  Aunt  Dolly,  she  was  every 
thing  to  me,"  and  the  hot  tears  trickled  through  Rose's 
slender  fingers. 

"  Fiddle-faddle  !  Now  ain't  you  ashamed,  you  great 
baby,  to  be  bawling  here  in  the  street,  as  if  I  was  some 
terrible  dragon  making  off  with  you  ?  That 's  all  the 
thanks  I  get  for  taking  you  out  of  the  church-yard  and 
putting  you  in  that  nice  Orphan  Asylum." 

"  If  you  had  only  left  me  in  the  church-yard,"  sobbed 
Rose. 

Dolly  was  quite  too  angry  to  reply.  The  very  bows 
on  her  bonnet  trembled  with  rage. 

After  a  pause,  she  turned  round,  and  laying  her 
hands  on  Rose's  trembling  shoulders,  said, 

"  "Now,  look  here,  Rose  Clark,  now  just  take  a  fair 
and  square  look  at  me.  I  don't  look  much  like  your 
gentle  mother,  as  you  call  her,  do  I  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  sobbed  Rose,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears. 

"  Well,  I  ain't  like  her  in  any  thing.  I  ain't  a-going 
to  pet  you,  nor  make  of  you,  nor  spoil  you,  as  she 
did.  You  are  bound  out  to  me,  and  you  have  got 
your  bread  and  butter  to  earn.  I  have  no  taste  for 
cry-babies  nor  idlers,  and  if  you  don't  work  and  mind 
too,  the  committee  of  the  Orphan  Asylum  shall  know 
the  reason  why ;  you  may  find  worse  quarters  than  my 


60  EOSE     CLAKK, 

milliner's  shop,"  and  Dolly  stopped,  not  that  the  sub 
ject,  but  her  breath,  was  exhausted. 

Tie  morning  was  calm  and  serene,  and  the  road 
through  which  Dolly's  old  horse  plodded,  very  lovely. 
There  had  been  heavy  rains  for  days  before,  and  now, 
as  they  left  the  city  behind  them,  the  sun  shone  out, 
and  bright  drops  hung  glistening  on  the  trees,  shrubs, 
and  grass  blades,  and  the  spicy  pines  and  way-side 
flowers  sent  forth  their  sweetest  odors.  The  little 
birds,  too,  came  out,  pluming  their  wings  for  a  sunny 
flight  far — far  into  the  clear  blue  ether,  whither  Rose 
longed  to  follow  them. 

Such  a  burst  of  song  as  they  went ! 

It  thrilled  through  every  fibre  of  the  child's  frame. 

Rose  glanced  at  the  frowning  face  beside  her.  There 
was  no  appreciation  there.  No,  Dolly  was  thinking 
how  much  work  she  could  get  out  of  the  feeble  child 
by  her  side,  the  helpless  orphan  hi  whose  veins  her 
own  blood  flowed. 

On  they  went — the  old  horse,  and  Dolly,  and  Rose. 

"Wreaths  of  mist  rolled  up  from  the  valleys,  crept 
along  the  hill-sides,  and  were  eagerly  drunk  up  by  the 
sun's  warm  breath,  leaving  the  earth  fresh  and  fair  as 
when  it  first  came  from  the  forming  hand  of  God. 

Cottages  they  passed,  nestled  among  the  trees,  on 
whose  happy  thresholds  children  clambered  on  a 
mother's  knee. 

Churches  too,  whose  glistening   spires   pointed  to 


ROSE     CLARK.  61 

that  Heaven  where  Rose  longed  to  be  at  rest ;  and  far, 
far  away,  the  silver  lake  gleamed  in  the  bright  sun 
light;  oh,  how  gladly,  on  its  peaceful  bosom,  would 
the  child  have  floated  away ! 

"  For  mercy's  sake,  what  are  you  thinking  about," 
asked  Dolly,  "  with  that  curious  look  in  your  eyes,  and 
the  color  coming  and  going  in  your  face  that  way  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  the  child,  her  eyes  still  fixed 
on  the  silver  lake,  "  how  beautiful  God  made  the  earth, 
and  how  sad  it  was  there  should  be — " 

"  What  now  ?"  asked  Dolly  tartly. 

"  Any  SOITOW  in  it,"  said  Rose. 

"The  earth  is  well  enough,  I  s'pose,"  said  Dolly. 
"  I  never  looked  at  it  much,  and  as  to  the  rest  of  your 
remark,  I  hope  you  will  remember  it  when  you  get 
home,  and  not  plague  my  life  out,  when  I  want  you  to 
work.  Let 's  see ;  you  will  have  the  shop  to  sweep 
out,  the  window  shutters  to  take  down  and  put  up, 
night  and  morning,  errands  to  run,  sewing,  washing, 
ironing,  and  scrubbing  to  do,  dishes  to  wash,  beside  a 
few  other  little  things. 

"Of  course  you  will  have  your  own  clothes  to  make 
and  to  mend,  the  sheets  and  towels  to  hem,  and  be 
learning  meanwhile  to  wait  on  customers  in  the  shop ; 
I  shan't  trust  you  with  the  money-drawer  till  I  know 
whether  you  are  honest." 

Rose's  face  became  crimson,  and  she  involuntarily 
moved  further  away  from  Dolly. 


62  EOSECLAKK. 

"  None  of  that  now,"  said  that  lady,  "  such  airs  won't 
go  down  with  me.  It  is  a  pity  if  I  can't  speak  to  my 
own  sister's  child." 

Rose  thought  this  was  the  only  light  in  which  she 
was  likely  to  view  the  relationship,  but  she  was  too 
wise  to  reply. 

"There's  no  knowing,"  said  Dolly,  "what  you  may 
have  learned  among  those  children  at  the  Asylum." 

"  You  put  me  there,  Aunt  Dolly,"  said  Rose. 

"  Of  course  I  put  you  there,  but  did  I  tell  you  to 
learn  all  the  bad  things  you  saw  ?" 

"  You  didn  't  tell  me  not ;  but  I  never  would  take 
what  belonged  to  another."  , 

"Shut  up  now — you  are  just  like  your  mother 
ex — actly ;"  and  Dolly  stopped  here,  considering  that 
she  could  go  no  further  in  the  way  of  invective. 

And  now  they  were  nearing  the  village.  Rose 
thought  it  looked  much  prettier  at  a  distance  than 
near. 

There  was  an  ugly,  dirty  tavern  in  the  main  street, 
on  whose  gaudy  sign-board  was  painted  "  The  Rising 
Sun;"  and  on  whose  piazza  were  congregated  knots  of 
men,  smoking,  chewing,  swearing,  and  bargaining,  by 
turns ;  for  it  was  cattle-fair  Monday,  and  the  whole 
population  was  astir. 

Herds  of  cattle;  sheep,  cows,  calves,  oxen,  and 
pigs,  divided  off  into  little  crowded  pens,  stood 
bleating  and  lowing  in  the  blazing  sun,  half  dead 


ROSE     CLAEK.  63 

with  thirst,  while  their  owners  were  chaffering  about 
prices. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  were  temporary 
booths,  whose  owners  were  making  the  most  of  the 
day  by  opening  oysters,  and  uncorking  bottles  for 
the  ravenous  farmers ;  little  boys  stood  by,  greedily 
devouring  the  dregs  of  the  glasses  whenever  they 
could  dodge  a  boxed  ear.  A  few  sickly  trees  were 
planted  here  and  there,  at  the  sides  of  the  road,  which 
seemed  to  have  dwindled  away  in  disgust  at  their  loca 
tion.  On  a  small  patch  of  green,  dignified  by  the 
name  of  the  Park,  an  ill-assorted,  heterogeneous  com 
pany  were  drilling  for  'lection,  presenting  arms,  etc., 
in  a  manner  that  would  have  struck  Napoleon 
dumb. 

Dolly's  house  was  on  the  further  side  of  "  the  Park," 
a  two  story  wooden  tenement,  of  a  bright  red  color, 
planted  on  a  sand  bank  close  to  the  road  side,  unorna- 
mented  with  a  single  green  thing,  if  we  may  except 
some  gawky  boys  who  were  eyeing  the  tin  soldiers 
and  peppermint  candy  in  the  milliner's  window,  and 
who  had  been  attentively  listening  to  the  swearing 
cattle-dealers  and  picking  up  stray  lobster-claws  which 
good  fortune  had  thrown  in  their  way. 

"That  her?"  whispered  Daffodil  (Dolly's  facto 
tum),  pointing  to  Rose,  as  she  assisted  Dolly  to  alight. 
Dolly  nodded. 

"  Why — she  'd  be  a  real  beauty  if  she  was  only  a 


64  EOSECLAEK. 

little  fatter,  and  did  n't  stoop,  and  her  eyes  were  n't  so 
big,  and  she  was  n't  so  pale." 

"I  don't  see  any  beauty,"  mumbled  Dolly,  "she 
looks  exactly  like  her  mother." 

"  O  no — of  course  she  is  n't  a  beauty,"  said  Daffy, 
retracting  her  involuntary  mistake,  "she  don't  favor 
you  in  the  least  Dolly ;  I  said  she  would  be  pretty  if — $ 

"Never  mind  your  ifs  now,  I'm  as  hungry  as  a 
catamount,  give  me  something  to  eat,  and  then  I'll 
talk ;  some  of  that  cold  ham,  and  warm  over  some  tea ; 
goodness,  how  faint  I  am,  that  young  one  has  tired  me 
all  out  argufying — she 's  just  like  her  mother — exactly." 

"  Shall  I  set  a  plate  for  her  too  ?"  asked  Daffy. 

"  Of  course  not,  till  I  get  through ;  children  always 
cram  all  before  them,  there  wouldn't  be  a  mortal 
thing  left  for  me — let  her  wait  till  I  have  done.  Rose 
— here !  take  off  your  bonnet,  sit  down  and  unpack 
those  boxes,  don't  break  the  strings  now,  untie  the 
knots  carefully,  the  strings  may  do  to  use  again,  and 

don't  litter  up  the  shop  floor,  and  don't Lord-a- 

mercy,  Daffy,  if  she  ain't  undone  the  wrong  boxes,  I 
knew  she  would." 

"  T-h-o-s-e,"  she  thundered  hi  Rose's  ear,  pulling  her 
along  to  the  right  pile,  and  bending  her  over  till  her 
nose  touched  the  boxes;  "now  see  if  you  can  see 
them,  and  don't  make  another  mistake  short  of  ten 
minutes,"  and  Dolly  threw  off  her  bonnet  and  sat 
down  to  her  tea. 


ROSE     CLAKK.  65 

Rose  stooped  down  as  she  was  bid,  and  commenced 
her  task,  but  the  excitement  she  had  undergone,  so 
different  from  the  monotonous  life  she  had  led,  the  heat 
of  the  day,  and  her  insufficient  breakfast  before  start 
ing,  brought  on  a  sudden  vertigo,  and  as  she  stooped 
to  execute  her  task,  she  fell  forward  upon  the  floor. 

"Sick  now,  the  very  first  day,"  exclaimed  Dolly, 
turning  to  Daffy,  "  now  ain't  that  enough  to  provoke 
any  body  ?  Her  mother  used  to  be  just  so,  always  faint 
ing  away  at  every  thing ;  she 's  got  to  get  cured  of 
that  trick ;  get  up  Rose !"  and  Dolly  shook  her  rough 
ly  by  the  arm. 

"  I  really  think  she  can't,"  said  Daffy,  looking  at  her 
white  lips  and  relaxed  limbs. 

Dolly  seized  a  pitcher  of  water  near,  and  dashed  it 
with  rather  more  force  than  was  necessary  in  the 
child's  face. 

"  That 's  warm  water,"  said  Daffy. 

"How  did  I  know  that?"  muttered  Dolly,  "bring 
some  cold  then ;"  and  Dolly  repeated  the  application, 
at  a  different  temperature. 

Rose  shivered  slightly,  but  did  not  open  her  eyes. 

4  5  She  intends  taking  her  own  time  to  come  to,"  said 
Dolly,  "  and  I  have  something  else  to  do,  beside  stand 
by  to  wait  for  it." 

"  But  it  won't  do  for  her  to  lie  here,"  said  Daffy. 
"Suppose  Mrs.  John  Meigs  should  come  in  after  that 
new  bonnet  of  hern  ?  It  don't  look  well." 


66  ROSE     CLAKK. 

Dolly  appreciated  that  argument,  and  Daffy  had 
permission  to  carry  her  out  of  sight,  into  a  back  sit 
ting-room,  on  the  same  floor. 

"  She  does  it  remarkable,  if  she  is  making  believe," 
soliloquized  Daffy,  as  she  laid  Rose  on  the  bed ;  "  and 
she  is  pretty,  too,  I  can  say  it  now  Dolly  is  n't  round, 
pretty  as  a  waxen  doll,  and  not  much  heavier ;  she  is 
not  fit  for  hard  work  anyhow,  with  those  bit-fingers. 
I  should  n't  wonder  if  Dolly  is  too  hard  on  the  child, 
but  I  dare  n't  say  so.  What  can  that  little  scar  be  on 
her  left  temple?"  and  Daffy  lifted  the  curls  to  look  at 
that  indelible  proof  of  Mrs.  Markham's  affection  on 
Rose's  initiation  day. 

"Well,  she's  a  pretty  cretur!"  said  Daffodil  again, 
as  she  took  one  more  glance  at  her  from  the  half 
open  door.  "  I  could  n't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  speak 
cross  to  the  poor  motherless  thing;  but  it  won't  do  for 
me  to  stay  up  here." 

"  Shall  I  make  a  cup  of  tea  for  Rose,  agin  she  wakes 
up  ?"  asked  Daffy. 

"  Sick  folks  ought  not  to  eat  and  drink,"  said  Dolly, 
sarcastically;  "no,  of  course  not;  clear  aw^ay  the  table, 
and  put  things  to  rights  here.  Our  Maria  was  always 
acting  just  so  ;  if  she  did  n't  have  her  breakfast  ready 
to  put  in  her  mouth  the  minute  she  got  out  of  bed, 
she  'd  up  and  faint  away;  she  'd  faint  if  it  was  hot, 
and  she  'd  faint  if  it  was  cold.  She  'd  faint  if  she  was 


ROSE     CLAEK.  67 

glad,  and  faint  if  she  was  sorry.  She  was  always 
a-fainting ;  I  never  fainted  in  my  life." 

"  Sisters  are  different,  you  know ;"  said  Daffy,  pol 
ishing  a  tea-cup  with  a  towel. 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Dolly.  "  It  is  lucky  they  are ; 
I  am  glad  I  ain't  such  a  miserable  stick ;  but  Rose  has 
got  to  get  out  of  that,"  added  she. 

"You  don't  really  believe  she,  nor  Maria,  as  you 
call  her,  could  help  it,  do  you?"  asked  Daffy. 

"  Help  a  fiddlestick,"  said  Dolly,  jerking  down  her 
pea-green  paper  window-curtain  ;  "  ridikilis !" 

Daffy  knew  that  word  was  Dolly's  ultimatum,  and 
pursued  the  subject  no  further. 


CHAPTER    X. 

"  AUNT  DOLLY,"  said  Rose,  timidly,  about  a  month 
after  the  events  above  related,  "Aunt  Dolly" — and 
here  Rose  stopped  short. 

"  Out  with  it,"  said  Dolly,  "  if  you  've  got  any  thing 
to  say.  You  make  me  as  nervous  as  an  eel,  twisting 
that  apron-string,  and  Aunt  Dolly-ing  such  an  eternity; 
if  you  have  got  any  thing  to  say,  out  with  it." 

"  May  I  go  to  the  evening  school  ?"  asked  Rose,  "  it 
is  a  free  school." 

"  Well — you  are  not  free  to  go,  if  it  is ;  you  know 
how  to  read  and  write,  and  I  have  taught  you  how  to 
make  change  pretty  well,  that  is  all  you  need  for  my 
purposes." 

"But  I  should  like  to  learn  other  things,  Aunt 
Dolly." 

"What  other  things,  I 'd  like  to  know?  that 's  your 
mother  all  over.  She  never  was  content  without  a 
book  at  the  end  of  her  nose.  She  could  n't  have 
earned  her  living  to  have  saved  her  life,  if  she  had  n't 
got  married." 


ROSE     CLARK.  69 

"  It  was  partly  to  earn  my  living  I  wanted  to  learn, 
Aunt  Dolly ;  perhaps  I  could  be  a  teacher." 

"  Too  grand  to  trim  caps  and  bonnets  like  your  Aunt 
Dolly,  I  suppose,"  added  she,  sneeringly ;  "  it  is  quite 
beneath  a  charity  orphan,  I  suppose." 

"  No,"  said  Rose ;  "  but  I  should  like  to  teach, 
better." 

"  Well,  you  won't  do  it ;  never — no  time.  So  there  »s 
all  there  is  to  that :  now  take  that  ribbon  and  make  the 
bows  to  old  Mrs.  Griffin's  cap — the  idea  of  wanting  to 
be  a  school-teacher  when  you  have  it  at  your  fingers' 
ends  to  twist  up  a  ribbon  so  easy — it  is  ridikilis.  Did 
Miss  Snow  come  here  last  night,  after  I  went  out,  for 
her  bonnet  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Rose. 

"  Did  you  tell  her  that  it  was  all  finished  but  the  cap 
frill?"  asked  Dolly, 

"ISTo;  because  I  knew  that  it  was  not  yet  begun, 
and  I  could  not  tell  a — a — " 

"  Lie  !  I  suppose,"  screamed  Dolly,  putting  her  face 
very  close  to  Rose's,  as  if  to  defy  her  to  say  the  obnox 
ious  word ;  "  is  that  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  courageously. 

"  Good  girl — good  girl"  said  Dolly  ;  "  shall  have  a 
medal,  so  it  shall ;"  and  cutting  a  large  oval  out  of  a 
bit  of  pasteboard,  and  passing  a  twine  string  through 
it,  she  hung  it  round  her  neck — "  Good  little  Rosy- 
Posy — -just  like  its  conscientious  mamma." 


70  EOSE     CLARK. 

"  I  wish  I  were  half  as  good  as  my  mamma,"  said 
Rose,  with  a  trembling  voice. 

"I  suppose  you  think  that  Aunt  Dolly  is  a  great 
sinner  !"  said  that  lady. 

"  We  are  all  great  sinners,  are  we  not  ?"  answered 
Rose. 

"  All  but  little  Rosy  Posy;"  sneered  Dolly,  "  she  is 
perfect,  only  needs  a  pair  of  wings  to  take  her  straight 
up  to  heaven." 

"Many  a  true  word  is  spoken  in  jest,"  muttered 
Daffy,  as  she  waxed  the  end  of  a  bit  of  sewing  silk, 
behind  the  counter. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

MK.  CLIFTON,  the  minister  of  Difftown  village  was 
one  of  those  few  clergymen  who  possessed  of  decided 
talent  was  yet  content  to  labor  in  an  humble  sphere. 
Many  of  his  brother  clergymen  had  left  their  country 
parishes  to  become  stars  in  cities.  Some,  unspoiled  by 
the  breath  of  applause,  had  laid  their  honors  meekly  at 
the  Saviour's  feet ;  others,  inflated  with  pride  and  self- 
conceit,  preached  soft  things  to  those  who  built  them 
palaces  of  ease,  and  healed  the  hurt  of  the  daughter  of 
God's  people  slightly. 

Mr.  Clifton  feared  the  test.  Appreciation  is  as  dear 
to  the  sanctified  as  the  unsanctified  heart.  It  were 
pleasant  to  see  the  heart's  dear  ones,  fitted  by  nature 
to  enjoy  the  refinements  of  life,  in  full  possession  of 
them ;  it  were  pleasant  to  have  daily  intercourse  with 
the  large  circle  of  the  gifted  who  congregate  in  cities — 
but  what  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world 
and  lose  his  own  soul?  Mr.  Clifton  felt  that  with  his  ar 
dent  social  and  impulsive  temperament,  his  quiet  village 
parish,  with  its  home  endearments,  was  most  favorable 
to  his  growth  in  grace ;  and  so,  turning  a  deaf  ear  to 


72  ROSE     CLAKK. 

the  Syren  voices  which  would  have  called  him  away, 
he  cheerfully  broke  the  bread  of  life,  year  after  year,  to 
his  humble  flock. 

It  was  Sabbath  evening — Mr.  Clifton  lay  upon  the 
sofa,  suffering  under  one  of  those  torturing  head-aches 
which  excessive  mental  excitement  was  sure  to  bring 
on.  He  loved  his  calling — it  was  not  mere  lip  service 
for  him  to  expound  the  word  of  God,  and  teach  its 
sacred  truths — the  humblest  among  his  people  knew 
this ;  the  tremor  in  his  voice,  the  moisture  in  his  eye, 
told  their  own  eloquent  tale.  There  must  have  been 
something  to  enchain  those  whose  active  limbs,  never 
still  during  the  other  days  of  the  week  from  dawn  till 
dark,  could  sit  on  those  narrow  seats  and  never  droop 
with  uneasiness  or  sleep. 

But  the  physical  reaction  was  too  apt  to  come  to 
the  delicately  strung  frame ;  and  with  closed  eyelids, 
Mr.  Clifton  lay  upon  the  sofa  in  the  parlor  of  the  little 
parsonage,  while  his  wife  bent  over  him,  bathing  his 
aching  temples. 

The  parsonage  parlor !  how  difficult  to  furnish  it  to 
suit  every  carping  eye,  for  there  were  those,  even  in 
Mr.  Clifton's  parish,  as  in  all  others,  whom  his  blame 
less  life  and  welling  sympathies  could  neither  appease 
nor  conciliate. 

The  parsonage  parlor  !  The  father  of  Mary  Clifton 
would  gladly  have  filled  it  with  luxuries  for  his  only 
daughter ;  but  Mary  shook  her  little  head,  and  planted 


KOSE     CLARK.  73 

her  little  foot  firmly  on  the  plain  Kidderminster  oar- 
pet,  and  sat  down  contentedly  in  the  bamboo  rocking- 
chair,  and  hung  the  pretty  pictures  her  girlhood  had 
cherished  in  a  spare  room  up-stairs,  and  looked  round 
upon  the  bare  walls  of  the  parlor  without  a  murmur  of 
dissatisfaction. 

Flowers  she  still  clung  to.  The  parsonage  parlor 
was  never  without  them.  They  were  on  the  breakfast 
and  tea-table — sometimes  but  a  single  blossom,  for 
Mary  had  little  time  to  cull  them — sometimes  only  a 
green  branch  or  sprig,  whose  wondrously  beautiful 
leaves,  shaded  with  the  nicest  skill,  had  given  her  a 
thrill  of  pleasure — sometimes  a  bunch  of  simple  clover 
— sometimes  a  tuft  of  moss,  or  a  waving  com  tassel, 
mixed  with  spears  of  oats  and  grass-blades. 

Mr.  Clifton  loved  Mary  all  the  better  that  she  loved 
these  things ;  and  when  she  came  to  him  with  her  blue 
eye  beaming,  and  her  cheek  flushed  with  pleasure,  and 
held  up  to  him  some  tiny  floral  treasure,  whose  beauty 
no  eye  less  spiritual  than  her's  could  have  discerned, 
and  pointed  out  its  delicate  tinting,  he  thanked  God 
her  heart  could  be  made  happy  by  such  pure,  innocent, 
and  simple  pleasures. 

But  it  was  at  such  times  as  I  have  alluded  to,  when 
Mr.  Clifton  sank  under  his  pastoral  duties,  that  Mary.* 
love  shone  forth  the  brightest.  On  the  Sabbath  eve 
of  which  we  speak,  his  eyes  were  closed,  but  he  heard 
the  rustle  of  her  dress  and  her  light  foot-fall  on  the 


74  KOSECLAKK. 

carpet.  He  felt  her  fragrant  breath  upon  his  cheek,  and 
the  touch  of  her  soft  fingers  charming  the  fever  from 
his  temples.  Gradually  it  crept  away,  yielding  to  her 
magnetic  touch,  and  the  smile  came  back  to  her  hus 
band's  lip,  and  the  beam  to  his  languid  eye.  And 
now  the  healing  cup  of  tea  was  prepared,  and  the  little 
stand  with  its  tray  set  before  him,  and  Mary  herself 
sweetened  it,  more  with  the  smile  on  her  lip  and  the 
love-beam  in  her  eye  than  with  the  big  lump  of  sugar 
she  dropped  into  it ;  and  as  her  husband  drained  the 
cup  and  laid  his  head  back  again  upon  the  cushions,  he 
thanked  God,  as  many  a  convalescent  has  done,  for 
the  untold  wealth  of  love  which  sickness  may  draw 
forth. 

"Did  you  see  that  sweet  child,  George,  in  Dolly 
Smith's  pew  to-day  ?"  asked  Mary.  "  Her  little  face 
quite  fascinated  me.  It  was  as  sad  as  it  was  sweet.  I 
fancied  the  child  must  have  known  sorrow  ;  perhaps  be 
motherless,"  and  Mary  kissed  her  own  little  blue-eyed 
baby.  "You  know,  George,  things  sometimes  come 
to  me  like  a  revelation.  I  am  sure  that  child's  heart 
is  sore.  When  you  read  the  hymn  I  saw  the  tears 
standing  in  her  eyes,  but  then  your  voice  is  so 
musical,  George,  it  might  have  been  from  excess  of 
pleasure." 

"  Foolish  little  wife,"  said  her  husband  ;  "  as  if  every 
body  saw  me  through  your  eyes,  and  heard  me  with 
your  partial  ears." 


ROSE     CLARK.  75 

"  Well,  be  that  as  it  may,"  said  Mary,  "  I  want  you 
to  call  at  Dolly's  and  see  that  child ;  get  her  into  my 
Sabbath-school  class  if  you  can,  and  if  she  has  a  sor 
row,  we  will  try  to  lighten  it." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

IsToT  the  least  difficult  part  of  a  clergyman's  duty  is 
his  round  of  parochial  calls.  They  must  be  rightly  timed 
with  regard  to  the  domestic  arrangements  of  each 
family.  This  he  is  supposed  to  know  by  a  sort  of  in 
tuition.  They  must  not  be  too  infrequent.  He  must 
remember  the  number  of  the  inmates,  and  be  sure  to 
inquire  after  the  new  baby.  He  must  stay  no  longer 
at  Mrs.  Wheeler's  than  he  did  at  Mrs.  Brown's.  He 
must  swallow,  at  any  physical  cost,  whatever  is  set  be 
fore  him  in  the  way  of  eating  or  drinking* 

Mr.  Clifton  was  fully  aware  of  ah1  these  parochial 
shoals,  and,  as  far  as  mortal  man  could  do  it,  steered 
clear  of  shipwreck ;  but  "  offenses  will  come,"  and 
Dolly  was  at  the  wash-tub,  up  to  her  elbows  in  soap 
suds,  when  "the  minister"  was  announced  by  the 
breathless  Daffy,  who  was  unaware  that  Monday  is 
generally  the  day  when  all  clergymen  turn  their  backs 
upon  the  study  and  recruit  their  exhausted  energies  by 
locomotion. 

"  Why,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  could  n't  he 
have  called  Saturday?"  asked  Dolly,  hastily,  wiping 


EOSE     CLARK.  77 

the  suds  from  her  parboiled  fingers ;  "  then  I  had  on 
my  green  silk,  and  should  as  lief  have  seen  him  as 
not  ;  but  ministers  never  have  any  consideration. 
Daffy — Daffy,  here — where 's  my  scalloped  petticoat 
and  under-sleeves  ?  I  dare  say  now  that  the  sitting- 
room  center-table  is  ah1  awry.  Daffy,  is  the  Bible  on 
the  light  stand  ?  and  the  hymn-book  too  ?  Hand  me 
my  silk  apron  trimmed  with  the  pink  bows,  and  get 
my  breast-pin  quick,  for  goodness'  sake ;  men  prink 
forever  themselves,  but  they  never  can  wait  a  minute 
for  a  woman  to  dress ;  how  do  I  look,  Daffy  ?  I  do 
wish  people  had  sense  enough  to  stay  away  of  a  Mon 
day  morning.  Don't  let  these  calicos  lay  soaking  in 
the  tub,  now,  till  I  come  back ;  give  'em  a  wring  and 
hang  'em  out  ." 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Clifton,"  said  Dolly,  dropping 
a  bobbing  courtesy;  "it  is  quite  a  pleasure  to  see 
you." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Dolly,"  replied  the  minister,  with 
a  gravity  truly  commendable,  when  the  fact  is  taken 
into  consideration  that  he  had  heard  every  syllable 
of  the  foregoing  conversation,  through  the  thin  par 
tition  ;  "  thank  you,  Miss  Dolly." 

"  Yes,  I  was  just  saying  to  Daffy,"  resumed  Dolly, 
"  how  long  it  was  since  you  called  here,  and  how  wel 
come  you  were  at  any  tune,  when  you  felt  inclined  to 
come.  I  don't  think  it  at  all  strange  that  you  should 
prefer  calling  oftener  at  Lawyer  Bnggs's  and  Squire 


78  EOSECLAEK. 

Beadle's,  than  at  my  poor  place.  I  know  it  is  hardly 
fit  to  ask  a  clergyman  into." 

"  Lawyer  Briggs  and  Squire  Beadle  are  my  wife's 
relatives,  you  know,  Miss  Dolly." 

"Oh,  I  wasn't  complaining,  at  all,"  said  Dolly; 
"  they  are  eddicatecl  people,  it  is  n't  at  all  strange ; 
how 's  your  folks  ?" 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you;  the  baby  is  getting 
through  his  teeth  bravely." 

"  I  saw  Mrs.  Clifton  go  into  Mrs.  Messenger's  the 
other  day,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  see  she  has  her  favorites 
in  the  parish." 

"  Mrs.  Messenger's  little  boy  was  taken  in  a  fit," 
said  Mr.  Clifton,  "  and  they  sent  over  in  great  haste 
for  my  wife." 

"Ah,"  said  Dolly,  "well,  I  didn't  blame  her,  of 
course  not ;  I  would  n't  have  you  think  so.  Mrs. 
Messenger  is  considered  very  genteel  here  in  the  vil 
lage  ;  Mrs.  Messenger  and  I  are  two  very  different 
persons." 

"  I  see  you  brought  me  a  new  parishioner  last  Sun 
day,"  said  Mr.  Clifton,  glad  to  change  the  conver 
sation. 

"  Yes  ;  she  is  a  poor  child  whom  I  took  out  of  pity 
to  bring  up  ;  her  mother  is  dead,  and  so  I  offered  her 
a  home." 

"  That 's  right,"  said  Mr.  Clifton,  who  had  his  own 
views  about  Dolly's  motives.  "  I  hope  she  will  attend 


ROSE     CLARK.  79 

the  Sabbath-school ;  Mrs.  Clifton,  I  know,  would  like 
her  to  be  in  her  class." 

Dolly's  countenance  fell.  "Well,  I  don't  know 
about  that,  though  I  'm  obleeged  to  Mrs.  Clifton. 
I  don't  think  Rose  would  be  willing  to  go." 

"  She  might  be  shy  at  first,"  said  the  minister,  "  but 
my  wife  has  quite  a  gift  at  drawing  out  children's 
hearts.  I  think  little  Rose  would  soon  love  her." 

"  I  don't  think  she  will  be  able  to  go,"  said  Dolly, 
coldly ;  "  but  I  '11  think  of  it." 

"  Do,"  replied  Mr.  Clifton,  "  and  perhaps  you  would 
allow  her  sometimes  to  run  over  and  see  the  baby  and 
the  garden.  Children  are  sociable  little  creatures,  you 
know.  Is  she  fond  of  flowers  ?" 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  am  sure  I  never 
could  see  any  use  in  them,  except  to  make  artificial 
ones  by,  to  trim  bonnets." 

Mr.  Clifton  smiled,  in  spite  of  himself,  at  this  pro 
fessional  view  of  the  subject.  "  Well,  the  baby  then," 
he  added ;  "  it  is  just  beginning  to  be  interesting.  I 
think  she  would  like  the  baby." 

"She  don't  seem  to  have  much  inclination  to  go 
about,"  answered  Dolly,  "  and  it  is  not  best  to  put  her 
up  to  it ;  home  is  the  best  place  for  children." 

Ay,  home,  thought  Mr.  Clifton,  as  Rose's  sweet  sad 
eyes  and  pale  face  passed  before  him. 

"Well,  good  morning,  Miss  Dolly;  perhaps,  after 
all,  you  will  change  your  mind  about  the  little  girl." 


80  BOSECLAKK. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Clifton,"  and  Dolly  bobbed  a 
succession  of  little  courtesys,  and  avoided  answering 
his  last  remark.  "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Clifton  ;  thank 
yon  even  for  a  short  visit,  but  I  don't  complain.  It 
is  a  poor  place,  after  all,  to  invite  a  clergyman  into." 

"  I  think  I  see  Rose  going  to  Sabbath-school,"  said 
Dolly,  as  she  folded  up  her  finery,  put  it  away,  rolled 
up  her  sleeves  and  went  back  to  the  wash-tub;  "I 
think  I  see  her  going  off  to  Sunday-school  and  me 
doing  up  the  work ;  visiting  at  the  minister's  house 
too ;  '  baby  and  flowers,'  and  all  that :  she  'd  be  so  set 
up  in  a  fortnight  that  there  would  be  no  getting  along 
with  her :  ah1  sorts  of  notions  put  in  her  head,  instead 
of  thinking  herself  well  off  here  as  she  is,  with  her 
head  under  shelter,  ten  to  one  she  would  imagine 
she  was  terribly  abused.  No — Rose  don't  make  any 
acquaintances  if  I  can  help  it,  and  as  to  Sunday-school, 
there 's  the  Bible,  she  might  as  well  study  it  in  one 
place  as  another ;  there 's  something  behind  all  this ; 
I  verily  believe  that  child  is  going  to  bewitch  folks, 
just  as  her  mother  did  before  her ;  the  amount  of  it  is, 
they  took  a  fancy  to  her,  Sunday,  in  meetin' ;  Rose  is 
just  like  her  mother  exactly;  she  always  looked  just 
so  innocent,  as  if  she  didn't  know  that  she  was — 
(Dolly  couldn't  say  pretty  even  to  herself,  so  she 
added — artful).  !N~o,  that  child  shan't  go  any  where, 
nor  see  any  body,  nor  do  any  thing,  but  work  for  me ;" 


EOSECLAEK.  81 

and  Dolly  gave  the  towel  she  was  wringing  out,  as  vig 
orous  a  twist  as  if  it  had  been  Rose's  neck. 

The  kind-hearted  clergyman  and  his  wife  made 
many  after  attempts  to  show  Rose  some  little  kindness, 
but  Dolly  was  always  sure  to  out-general  them,  and 
fearing  at  last  that  the  situation  of  the  child  might 
be  made  still  more  irksome  by  their  persistence,  they 
reluctantly  confined  themselves  to  sympathetic  glances, 
and  nods,  when  they  met  her ;  and  this  was  much  to 
poor  Rose,  for  Dolly's  voice  grew  each  day  harsher 
and  colder,  and  Rose's  future,  hour  by  hour,  looked 

more  dark  and  rayless. 

4* 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

AND  now  the  minister  and  his  gentle  wife  had  their 
own  sorrow  to  bear. 

17ie  ~boiby  icas  dead. 

There  are  those  to  whom  that  phrase  conveys 
but  little  meaning;  there  are  others  whose  every 
heart-string  thrills  to  it.  "The  baby"  may  not  be 
pretty  to  any,  save  those  wiio  gave  it  being.  Its 
first  smile,  its  first  word,  its  first  tottering  step,  are 
trifles  all  to  the  busy  world  without ;  but  ah,  not  in 
the  little  home  circle :  not  to  him  who  contending  all 
day  long  with  the  jostling  world  of  trade,  sickened 
and  disgusted  with  its  trickeries  and  overreaching, 
selfishness,  and  duplicity,  weary  with  the  clamorous  din 
of  traffic,  crosses  at  length  his  own  peaceful  thrcshhold, 
and  sitting  down  by  that  little  cradle,  bends  a  brow 
seamed  with  care,  over  the  little  sleeper,  with  heaven's 
own  smile  upon  its  lip,  heaven's  own  purity  on  its  baby 
brow. 

Not  to  her  •  to  whom  its  faintest  smile  were  reward 
enough  for  mortal  pangs  and  throes ;  its  faintest  wail 


BOSE     CLARK.  83 

of  pain  loud  enough  to  drown  the  united  call  of  hun 
ger,  thirst,  and  weariness. 

Not  to  those  who,  folding  it  to  their  united  hearts, 
say —  Our  l)aby. 

Is  their  love  the  less  when  disease  lays  its  withering 
finger  on  the  roses  of  its  cheek  and  lip  ?  Can  they 
spare  "  the  baby"  even  though  other  children  cluster 
round  the  hearth  ?  And  when  death's  shadow  falls,  can 
they  forget  the  night-watch  nestling  of  that  little  velvet 
cheek?  the  imploring  look  of  that  fading,  upturned 
eye?  Can  such  chords  be  rudely  snapped  without 
a  jarring  discord?  N"o,  let  them  weep;  Jesus 
wept. 

Inexpressibly  dreadful  is  the  touch  of  careless  fin 
gers  upon  the  loved  dead;  the  careless  robing  and 
unrobing  of  limbs  in  life  so  dearly  cherished,  so  deli 
cately  draped. 

Inexpressibly  beautiful  are  the  services  weeping  love 
jealously  renders  to  the  departed;  bearing  on  its 
own  shoulders  to  its  last  resting-place  the  coffin  and 
the  pall,  lowering  it  carefully,  reverently,  as  if  the 
pulseless  heart  within  would  be  pained  by  a  stranger 
touch. 

It  was  Mary  Clifton's  own  fingers  which  shrouded 
the  baby ;  it  was  the  father's  own  hands  which  placed 
it  in  the  coffin,  it  was  in  their  own  arms  by  the  light 
of  the  quiet  stars,  it  was  borne  to  its  garden  grave. 

"Ridikilis!"   exclaimed  Dolly,   "as  if  nobody  was 


84  ROSE     CLARK. 

good  enough  to  touch  that  child;  minister's  folks,  too, 
having  sich  stuck-up  notions ;  as  if  the  child  knew  who 
earned  it,  as  if  the  sexton  did  n't  understand  his  busi 
ness,  as  if  the  whole  village  ought  n't  to  have  seen  'em 
bury  it,  if  they  wanted  to.  Polly  Smith  was  up  in  a 
tree,  and  saw  the  whole  of  it.  She  said  she  was  deter 
mined  to.  She  said  they  cried  like  every  thing ;  now 
that  just  shows  how  much  they  believe  what  they 
preach  about  '  heaven's  being  the  best  place ;'  if  that  is 
so,  they  Jd  naterally  be  glad  the  young  one  had  gone 
there ;  pooh,  it  is  all  stuff — they  don't  believe  it  no 
more  nor  I  do ;  any  how,  I  shall  make  the  most  of  this 
world,  and  then,  if  there 's  nothing  better  in  t'  other,  I 
shall  have  at  least  gained  something. 

"  It  was  perfectly  ridikilis,  there  not  being  a  funeral 
time ;  I  should  have  sold  yards  and  yards  of  black  rib 
bon,  for  the  parish  to  wear ;  but  minister's  folks  never 
think  of  any  body  but  themselves.  I  've  found  that 
out." 

\ 

Mary  Clifton  sits  at  her  nursery-window;  the  empty 
cradle  is  by  her  side,  with  its  snowy  pillow  and  cover 
lid,  the  baby's  rattle  lies  on  the  mantle,  and  its  little 
cloak  and  silken  hood  hang  just  in  sight  within  the 
closet. 

That  window  was  her  favorite  seat ;  there  she  used 
to  toss  the  baby  up  and  down,  to  catch  the  woodbine 
branches  that  clambered  over  the  open  window ;  they 


HOSE     CLARK.  85 

still  stirred  with  life — but  oh,  where  was  the  little 
dimpled  hand,  so  late  outstretched  in  glee  to  reach 
them? 

Just  one  short  week  ago  that  day  (before  "the  baby" 
was  taken  sick),  oh,  how  well  she  remembered  it,  how 
bright  it  looked  that  morning,  with  its  snowy  frock 
and  blue  ribbons,  she  stood  just  in  that  spot  with  it ; 
a  pane  of  glass  had  lately  been  broken,  and  the  cement 
in  the  new  one  was  yet  fresh ;  the  baby  pressed  its  tiny 
little  finger  on  it,  and  left  its  impress.  No  wonder 
Mary  sits  there  passing  her  own  finger  slowly  over  the 
indentation,  while  the  tears  chase  each  other  down  her 
face;  oh,  to  how  many  maternal  hearts  have  such 
memories  been  at  once  a  sorrow  and  a  solace  ? 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  OH,  Aunt  Dolly !"  said  Rose,  coming  in  with  her 
face  all  a-glow,  "will  you  please  tell  me  is  this  my 
mother's  thimble  ?  I  found  it  in  the  drawer,  and  may 
I  have  it  ?"  she  asked,  pressing  it  to  her  lips. 

"  It  don't  take  me  long  to  answer  questions,"  said 
Dolly ;  "  it  is  your  mother's,  and  you  may  not  have 
it.  You  had  no  business  to  go  ferreting  round  among 
my  things." 

"You  told  me  to  go  to  the  drawer,  and  get  the 
thread,"  answered  Rose,  "  and  it  lay  right  there,  and  I 
could  not  help  seeing  it.  Won't  you  please  let  me 
have  it  ?  I  shall  be  so  happy  if  you  will." 

Poor  child !  This  was  the  worst  argument  she  could 
have  used. 

"  I  will  do  any  thmg,  Aunt  Dolly,  if  you  will,"  said 
she,  poising  the  coveted  treasure  on  her  tiny  finger. 
"I*ft~.I»tt-J» 

"Won't  you  ever  say  another  word  to  me  again 
about  going  to  school,  as  long  as  you  live  ?" 

Rose  hesitated,  and  looked  at  the  thimble.  "  I  don't 
like  to  promise  that,  Aunt  Dolly." 


ROSE     CLARK.  87 

"Then  I  don't  like  to  give  you  the  thimble,"  an 
swered  Dolly,  snatching  it  from  Rose's  finger,  and 
stuffing  it  into  her  own  pocket.  "Now  go  back  to 
your  work,  miss." 

"  I  would  have  given  it  to  her,  had  I  been  you," 
said  the  good-natured  Dafiy  (adding  the  only  argu 
ment  which  she  knew  would  tell  on  Dolly)  ;  "  I  really 
believe  the  child  would  do  twice  the  work  with  that 
thimble -on  her  finger." 

"  I  did  n't  think  of  that,"  replied  Dolly,  "  perhaps 
she  would — Rose  ?" 

Rose  came  back  with  traces  of  tears  upon  her  face. 

"  Will  you  be  a  very,  very  good  girl,  and  do  every 
thing  I  tell  you,  always  ?" 

Rose  could  not  answer  for  sobbing. 

"Give  it  to  her,"  whispered  the  tortured  Daffy, 
"  you  '11  see  how  it  will  work." 

"  Well,  there 's  the  thimble,"  said  Dolly,  throwing  it 
at  her. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Dolly,"  said  Rose,  "  I  thank  you.  I  '11 
try ;  indeed  I  '11  try." 

"  Well,  go  along,  and  see  that  you  keep  your  word. 
I  have  n't  much  faith  in  it,  though." 

"  I  declare,"  said  Dolly,  leaning  back  in  her  chair, 
"  our  Maria  was  the  beater  for  one  thing  ;  every  body 
who  ever  saw  her  used  to  carry  on  about  her  just  like 
that  child ;  even  the  cats  and  dogs  liked  a  kick  from 
her,  better  than  a  petting  from  any  body  else,  and  as 


88  EOSE     CLARK. 

to  her  husband,  he  thought  the  model  was  broke  (as 
that  image  man  said)  after  his  wife  was  made.  I  don't 
suppose  fire  could  burn  out  the  love  of  that  young  one 
for  her  mother,  for  all  she  was  so  little  when  Maria 
died.  I  am  sure  I  have  done  my  best,  but  the  fact  was, 
Maria  had  a  way  with  her." 

Ah,  selfish  Dolly !  Thy  sister  had  a  heart.  It  shone 
in  her  eyes,  lingered  in  her  smile,  sweetened  her  voice. 
Love  was  the  open  sesame  by  which  she  unlocked  all 
hearts,  and  without  which  thy  grasping  fingers  shall  try 
in  vain. 

"  Aunt  Dolly,"  said  Rose,  returning,  "  there  is  a  boy 
in  the  shop  who  wants  to  know  if  you  can  make  three 
mourning  bonnets  right  away.  Mrs.  Sharp  died  this 
morning." 

"  Oh !  that 's  very  nice.  To  be  sure  I  can.  Go  tell 
him  I  will  begin  them  this  minute.  Those  hats,  Daffy, 
must  not  cost  less  than  eight  dollars  a-piece.  It  don't 
do  for  people  in  affliction  to  chaffer  about  prices  and 
make  bargains  beforehand,  that 's  one  comfort ;  they 
must  be  made  of  the  most  expensive  English  crape, 
Daffy." 

"  I  thought  the  Sharps  were  not  very  well  off,"  sug 
gested  Daffy. 

"  That 's  nothing.  They  ought  to  pay  a  proper  re 
spect  to  the  dead,  if  they  ain't ;  beside,  they  have  rich 
relations.  I  shall  be  sure  to  get  it  out  of  some  of  'em, 
never  fear.  Hand  the  black  crape,  Daffy.  I  wonder 


ROSE     CLARK.  89 

what  ailed  Mrs.  Sharp  ?  She  was  out  to  meetin'  last 
Sunday.  I  hope  her  husband  will  call  to  settle  the  bill. 
Daffy,  don't  it  make  you  laugh  to  see  what  a  fuss 
widowers  make  trying  to  grieve  for  their  wives  ?  It  is 
ridikilis !  Mr.  Sharp  is  n't  a  bad  man  to  look  at.  Plow 
many  children  has  he,  Daffy  ?" 

"  Ten,"  said  Daffy. 

"  Could  n't  stand  it,"  said  Dolly.  "  Rose  is  enough 
of  a  pill  for  me.  I  shall  certainly  refuse  him." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

"  GOOD  afternoon,  Dolly,"  said  one  of  her  neighbors, 
coming  into  the  back  room,  and  tossing  off  her  shawl, 
which  served  the  double  purpose  of  cloak  and  bonnet. 
"Who  is  that  pretty  girl  you  have  there  in  the 
shop  ?" 

"  Who  can  she  mean  ?"  asked  Dolly  of  Daffy,  in  af 
fected  surprise. 

"  Why,"  said  Miss  Tufts,  anticipating  Daffy,  "  that 
pretty  creature  with  the  curly  hair  and  large  eyes,  who 
is  rolling  up  your  ribbons  ;  she  is  a  real  beauty." 

"  She  can't  mean  Rose  ?"  asked  Dolly  of  Daffy,  look 
ing  innocent  again. 

(Simple  Daffy,  puzzled  to  know  how  Dolly  wished 
her  to  answer,  contented  herself  with  a  little  doubt 
ful  shake  of  the  head.) 

"  Call  her  pretty  ?"  said  Dolly,  returning  from  a  tour 
of  observation  into  the  shop,  as  if  she  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  who  was  there  ;  "  call  Rose  pretty.  Well, 
I  'm  beat  now." 

"Why — don't  you?"  asked  Miss  Tufts.  "I  don't 
see  how  you  can  help  it ;  her  hair  curls  so  beautiful, 


HOSE     CLAEK.  91 

and  she  lias  such  a  way  with  her,  it  took  right  hold  of 
me  ;  her  voice  sounds  as  if  a  little  bird  was  singing  in 
her  mouth." 

"  Ridikilis  !"  said  Dolly ;  "  how  you  talk.  Has  your 
pa  got  over  his  pleurisy  ?  That  's  right.  How  do  you 
like  this  ribbon  ?  It  is  new  style,  you  see  ;  one  side  is 
green,  and  the  other  red." 

The  visitor's  eyes  being  fixed  on  the  ribbon  which 
she  had  taken  to  the  window  to  examine,  Dolly 
took  the  opportunity  to  whisper  to  Daffy,  "  Go  tell 
Rose  to  go  out  of  the  shop  into  the  back  part  of  the 
house." 

"  It  is  a  first-rate  ribbon,"  said  Miss  Tufts,  refolding 
it ;  "  but  look,  there  's  Mrs.  Clifton  going  down  street. 
She  has  n't  held  her  head  up  since  her  baby  died. 
How  she  does  take  it  to  heart,  Dolly." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly,  snipping  off  the  end  of  her  thread, 
"  that 's  the  way  with  those  people  who  are  always 
talking  about  '  another  and  a  better  world.'  I  don't 
see  but  they  hold  on  to  this  one  with  just  as  tight  a 
grip  as  other  folks." 

"  It  is  n't  nature  not  to  feel  bad,  when  a  Mend  dies," 
remarked  Miss  Tufts. 

"  Well,  there  's  no  need  of  making  such  a  blubbering 
about  it,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  did  n't,  when  our  Maria  died, 
I  restrained  my  feelings  ;  it  is  perfectly  disgusting." 

"  Here  Daffy,"  said  Dolly,  as  Miss  Tufts  tossed  her 
shawl  over  her  head,  and  bade  them  good-by,  "  here's 


92  HOSE     CLARK. 

the  trimmings  Nancy  Dawes  brought  for  her  bonnet ; 
it  is  not  much  matter  how  you  put  them  on,  she  has  no 
taste  you  know ;  it  will  be  all  one  to  her,  if  you  only 
tell  her  it  is  the  fashion  ;  that  is  the  right  kind  of  cus 
tomer  for  me,  your  knowing  people  are  a  sight  of 
bother,  with  then*  fussing.  Daffy,  mind  you  save  me 
enough  of  Nancy  Dawes's  ribbon  for  a  bow  for  my  neck, 
three  quarters  will  make  a  very  decent  one,  but  I  had 
rather  have  a  yard ;  and  Daffy,  when  Lawyer  Grant's 
wife  comes  in  to  ask  how  much  ribbon  it  will  take  to 
trim  her  bonnet,  mind  that  you  tell  her  a  yard  extra. 
She  has  all  her  ribbons  from  the  city,  and  they  are  just 
the  thing  for  neck-ribbons.  She  never  will  know  but 
it  is  all  put  on  her  bonnet,  when  the  bows  are  cut  up 
and  twisted  together;  she  never  asks  no  questions, 
there 's  nothing  mean  about  Lawyer  Grant's  wife ;  she 
don't  mind  milliners  and  mantua-makers  taking  their 
little  perquisites." 

"  Sometimes  I  think  it  isn't  right,"  said  Daffy. 

"You  do?  that's  a  good  one,  I'd  like  to  see  your 
year's  profits  on  any  other  system.  Why,  Mrs.  Bond 
gets  all  hers  and  her  children's  aprons  out  of  the  silk, 
and  de-laine,  and  thibet-cloth  that  ladies  bring  her  for 
dresses ;  it  is  all  right  enough.  We  must  take  it  out 
some  way,  when  ladies  beat  us  down  to  the  lowest  pos 
sible  price  for  work ;  talk  to  me  about  its  not  being 
right — c  self-preservation  is  the  first  law  of  natur,'  as 
the  Bible  says." 


ROSE     CLARK.  93 

Daffy  did  not  dispute  the  questionable  authority  of 
the  quotation,  but  rolling  the  responsibility  of  the  an 
ticipated  sin  she  had  assumed,  off  on  Dolly's  broad 
shoulders,  proceeded  to  do  her  bidding. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

MKS.  CLIFTON  was  going  down  street,  as  Miss  Tufts 
had  said ;  going  to  "  the  baby's"  grave,  for  she  could 
bear  the  deserted  nursery  and  empty  cradle  no  longer. 
It  was  something  to  be  near  the  little  form,  though  the 
spirit  which  shone  through  the  sweet  eyes  had  winged 
its  way  to  Him  who  gave  it ;  and  so  she  passes  the  little 
wicket-gate,  and  winds  her  way  among  other  graves, 
over  which  other  mothers,  like  her,  have  wept.  Some 
of  them,  carefully  kept,  others  overrun  with  briars  and 
nettles;  seas  perhaps,  rolling  between  some  babe  and 
her  under  whose  heart  it  once  stirred  with  embryo 
life;  or,  far  away,  perhaps,  the  mother  too,  may  be 
sleeping,  waiting,  as  does  her  solitary  babe,  for  that  day 
when  the  dead  who  are  in  their  graves,  shall  hear  His 
voice,  and  come  forth  ! 

Mrs.  Clifton  nears  her  baby's  grave.  A  little  form 
is  bending  over  it,  a  slender,  delicate  child,  whose  clus 
tering  curls,  as  she  stoops,  quite  hide  her  sweet  face. 
Somebody  else  loves  "  the  baby,"  for  the  little  grave  is 
dotted  over  with  flowers,  simple  enough,  indeed,  but 
love's  own  offering.  The  mother  draws  nearer,  smiling 


ROSE     CLARK.  95 

through,  her  tears  the  while — the  child  looks  tip ;  it  is 
Rose. 

"  Bless  you !  bless  you,  my  darling,"  Mrs.  Clifton 
murmurs,  and  draws  her  to  her  bosom. 

"  Why  did  you  strew  flowers  on  my  baby,  dear  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Clifton,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"  Because  I  was  so  sorry  for  you,"  said  Rose,  timid 
ly,  "  I  thought  perhaps  it  would  make  you  happy,  when 
you  came  here,  to  see  them." 

"Did  any  one  ever  die  whom  you  loved  ?"  asked  Mary. 

Rose's  lip  quivered,  the  tears  gathered  slowly  in  her 
eyes,  and  hung  trembling  on  her  lashes,  as  she  nodded 
her  little  head. 

"  Who,  my  darling  ?»  asked  Mary,  drawing  the  child 
nearer  to  her. 

"  My  mother,  my  own  dear  mother !"  said  the  weep 
ing  child,  drawn  to  her  kind  questioner  by  the  mutual 
sympathy  of  sorrow. 

"  Rose — Rose — Hose  !"  screamed  the  shrih1  voice  of 
Dolly  from  over  the  wall. 

"  Oh,  I  must  go  !  indeed  I  must ;  please  don't  tell, 
please  don't  say  any  thing,"  and  Rose,  hastily  wiping 
away  her  tears,  ran  breathlessly  toward  the  little 
wicket-gate. 

"  Now  I  'd  just  like  to  know,  miss,  where  you  have 
been  without  leave  ?"  asked  Dolly. 

"  Daffy  told  me  you  wanted  me  to  go  out  of  sight 


96  ROSE     CLARK. 

till  after  the  company  was  gone,"  said  Rose,  "  and  I 
thought  I  would  just  step  over  into  the  church-yard, 
and  put  some  daisies  on  the  baby's  grave." 

"Ridikilis!"  exclaimed  Dolly;  "just  as  if  that 
baby  knew  what  was  top  of  it ;  it  is  perfectly  disgust 
ing — you  are  just  like  your  mother  exactly.  Now  go 
along  into  the  house." 

Rose  entered  the  back  parlor  and  sat  down  at  the 
little  window  to  her  work. 

"  Rose,"  said  Dolly,  about  half  an  hour  after,  "don't 
your  hair  trouble  you  when  you  are  sewing  ?" 

Rose  looked  up  in  astonishment  at  this  demonstra 
tion  of  interest  on  the  part  of  her  tormentor. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered ;  "  I  never  thought 
any  thing  about  it." 

("  Now  don't  go  to  cutting  it,"  whispered  Daffy ; 
"  it  looks  so  pretty.") 

"  I  think  it  is  spoiling  her  eyes,"  said  Dolly ;  "  bring 
me  the  scissors,  Rose,"  and  Dolly  notched  her  locks  in 
and  out,  in  as  jagged  a  manner  as  she  knew  how.  As 
for  the  offending  eyes  which  Miss  Tufts  had  compli 
mented,  they  were  too  useful  to  be  extinguished,  and 
as  there  was  no  helping  the  "  bird  in  her  mouth,"  or 
the  "  pretty  way  she  had  with  her,"  Dolly  resolved  to 
keep  Rose  out  of  sight  as  much  as  possible,  with  her 
sewing  in  the  attic,  which  she  designated  as  Rose's 
bed-room ;  and,  in  pursuance  of  this  determination,  she 
was  ordered  up  there. 


KOBE     CLARK.  97 

Every  body  knows  what  a  country  attic  is,  with  its 
hot,  sloping,  pitch-oozing  roof,  with  its  indescribable 
paraphernalia  of  dried  mullen,  elder-blow,  thorough- 
wort,  and  tansy ;  with  its  refuse  garden-tools,  boxes, 
baskets,  and  chests  of  odds  and  ends  ;  its  spider-webs 
and  its  rat-holes. 

A  salamander  could  scarcely  have  endured  Dolly's 
attic  that  hot  August  noon.  Rose  sat  down  on  the 
rickety  old  bed,  under  the  heated  eaves,  to  ply  her 
needle.  There  was  an  opening  in  the  roofj  but  the 
breeze  seemed  to  blow  over  it,  not  into  it.  Rose  made 
little  progress  with  her  sewing,  for  her  temples  began 
to  throb  painfully,  and  her  fingers  almost  refused  their 
office.  "Now  she  rubs  her  forehead  and  eyes,  for  a 
mist  seems  to  be  gathering  over  them ;  now  she  pulls 
her  needle  slowly  out  again,  and  now  dizziness  over 
powers  her,  and  she  falls  forward  upon  the  floor. 

"Now  just  hear  that  noise,"  exclaimed  Dolly; 
"  hear  that  young  one  capering  round  that  attic  in 
stead  of  doing  her  work.  I  '11  soon  settle  that :"  and 
taking  her  little  riding-whip  from  behind  the  old- 
fashioned  claw-footed  clock  in  the  corner,  she  mounted 
up  stairs  into  the  attic. 

Phew !  how  hot  it  was — the  perspiration  started  at 
every  step,  and  this  fact  did  not  tend  to  the  diminu 
tion  of  Dolly's  rage. 

"You  needn't  play  asleep  now,  because  it  won't 
do,"  said  she,  laying  the  whip  vigorously  round  the 


98  ROSE     CLARK. 

prostrate  child.  "  I  shall  whip  you  till  you  get  up  anil 
ask  my  pardon,  d'  ye  hear  ?" 

There  is  not  much  satisfaction  in  whipping  a  person 
who  does  not  appear  to  feel  it,  and  Dolly  turned  Rose 
over  to  see  what  was  the  cause  of  her  obtuseness  ;  the 
face  was  so  ghastly  white  that  even  she  was  for  a  mo 
ment  daunted. 

But  it  is  only  for  a  moment.  Going  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs,  she  calls,  "  Daffy  ?» 

"  Look  here,  now,"  said  Dolly,  "  see  what  comes  of 
that  young  one's  going  into  grave-yards,  where  all 
those  horrid  dead  people  He  moldering ;  take  her  up, 
Daffy,  and  carry  her  down  into  your  bed-room; 
there's  a  whole  day's  work  lost  now  for  that  non 
sense;  she  won't  be  able  to  do  another  stitch  to 
day." 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  passed  on,  no  lightening 
of  the  heavy  load ;  but  now  the  active  spirit  which 
seemed  always  devising  fresh  means  of  torture  for  the 
child,  was  itself  prostrated  by  sickness.  A  fever  had 
settled  upon  Dolly's  strong  frame  and  iron  nerves,  and 
reduced  her  to  almost  childish  helplessness.  Ah — who 
glides  so  gently,  so  tirelessly  up  stairs  and  down,  bear 
ing  burdens  under  which  her  feeble  frame  totters? 
Who  runs  to  the  doctor's,  and  the  apothecary's,  who 
spreads  the  napkin  over  the  little  light-stand,  that  no 
rattle  of  spoons,  glasses,  and  phials,  may  disturb  the 
chance  naps  or  jar  the  nerves  of  the  invalid  ?  And 


EOSE     CLAHK.  99 

who,  when  she  has  done  her  best  to  please,  bears  the 
querulous  fretfulness  of  disease  and  ill  temper,  with 
lamb-like  patience  ? 

"Who  but  Rose  ? 

"  Why  are  you  crying  ?"  asked  Daffy,  as  Rose  stood 
by  the  kitchen  table  upon  which  she  had  just  set  down 
some  glasses.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  I  am  so  sorry  that  I  can  not  please  Aunt  Dolly ; 
she  says  I  have  not  done  a  single  thing  right  for  her 
since  she  was  sick ;  and  indeed,  Daffy,  I  have  tried 
very  hard,"  and  Rose  sobbed  again :  "  I  thought  per 
haps — that — Aunt — Dolly — might  love  me  a  little  when 
she  got  well." 

"  Never  you  mind,  Rose,"  said  the  distressed  Daffy, 
twitching  at  her  thread,  "  never  you  mind,  she 's  a — a 
— there's  a  six-pence  for  you  Rose." 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Rose,  returning  it,  "  I  don't 
want  money — I  want — I  want — somebody  to  love 
me,"  said  the  poor  tired  child,  hiding  her  face  in  her 
apron. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  said  Daffy,  again,  rubbing  her 
sleeve  into  her  own  eyes,  "  you  shall — you  shall — 

"  Lor',  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  you — Dolly's  a — 
a — well  she 's  sick  and  childish,"  said  Daffy,  ending  her 
sentence  in  a  very  different  manner  from  what  she  had 
intended. 

"Perhaps  it  is  that,"  said  the  good  little  creature, 
brightening  up,  "  I  did  not  think  of  that.  How  cruel 


100  ROSE     CLARK. 

it  was  for  me  to  think  her  unkind,  when  she  was  only 
sick ;  I  am  glad  you  said  that.  Daffy,"  and  Rose  wiped 
her  eyes  and  went  back  into  the  sick  chamber. 
,  "  It 's  awful  to  hold  in  when  a  body 's  so  rampageous 
mad,"  said  Daffy,  jumping  up  and  oversetting  her  bas 
ket  of  spools,  cotton,  needles,  pins,  etc.  "I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  burst  right  out  some  day,  to  think  of  that 
poor,  patient  little  creature  being  snubbed  so,  after 
being  on  her  tired  little  legs  these  six  weeks,  travel 
ing  up  and  down,  here  and  there,  and  lying  on  the 
floor  side  of  Dolly's  bed,  night  after  night,  and  ah1 
after  the  way  she  has  been  treated  too  (for  I  have  eyes 
if  I  don't  say  nothing),  and  as  long  as  nobody  hears 
me,  I  '11  just  out  with  it ;  Dolly  has  no  more  heart  than 
that  pine  table,"  and  Daffy  gave  it  a  vindictive  thump. 
"  There — now  I  feel  better— I  wish  I  dared  tell  her  so 
to  her  face — but  it  is  n't  in  me ;  she  makes  me  shrivel 
all  up,  when  she  puts  on  one  of  her  horrid  looks,  and 
I  can't  be  looking  out  for  a  new  place  with  this  rheu 
matism  fastening  on  me  every  time  the  wind  blows ;  I 
don't  know  what  is  to  become  of  the  poor  child,  blesa 
her  sweet  face." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

IT  is  a  long  lane  that  has  no  turning,  and  Dolly  now 
began  to  get  about  once  more. 

"Dear  me" — she  exclaimed  one  morning,  as  she 
crawled  round  the  shop,  enveloped  in  a  woolen  shawl — 
"  how  every  thing  has  gone  to  rack  and  ruin  since  I 
have  been  sick ;  one  month  more  sickness  and  I  should 
have  had  to  fail.  See  that  yellow  ribbon,  ah1  faded 
out,  a  lying  in  that  window;  when  I  was  about,  I 
moved  it  from  the  show-case  to  the  window,  and  from 
the  window  to  the  show-case,  according  to  the  sun ; 
three  shillings  a  yard  too,  bought  of  Bixby  &  Co., 
the  last  time  I  went  to  the  city ;  and  there 's  the  dress- 
caps  put  into  the  bonnet-boxes,  and  the  bonnets  put 
into  the  dress-cap  boxes.  Whose  work  is  that  I'd 
like  to  know  ?  And  as  I  live,  if  there  is  n't  a  hole  in 
the  cushion  of  my  rocking  chair,  and  the  tassel  torn 
off  the  window  shade.  O — d-e-a-r — m-e  !"  and  Dolly 
sank  into  a  chair,  and  looked  pins  and  needles  at  the 
helpless  Daffy. 

"  You  forget  how  much  we  have  had  to  do,  don't 
you,  Dolly  ?  I  have  hardly  sat  down  half  an  hour  at 


102  ROSE     CLARK. 

a  time.  WhLt  with  waiting  on  customers,  and  looking 
after  housekeeping  matters,  I  am  as  tired  as  an  old 
horse.  I  tried  to  do  the  best  I  could,  Dolly." 

"That's  what  people  always  say  when  they  have 
left  every  thing  at  sixes  and  sevens ;  but  that  don't 
put  the  color  back  into  Bixby  &  Co.'s  yellow  ribbon, 
nor  mend  the  shade  tassel,  nor  the  hole  in  my  chair 
cushion.  For  mercy's  sake,  did  n't  you  have  Rose  to 
help  you  ?  You  make  such  a  fuss  about  being  tired." 

"  It  took  about  all  Rose's  time  to  wait  on  you,"  an 
swered  Daffy. 

"  That 's  a  good  one !"  exclaimed  Dolly ;  "  all  on 
earth  I  wanted  was  to  be  kept  quiet,  take  my  medi 
cines,  and  have  a  little  gruel  now  and  then.  You 
can't  make  me  believe  that." 

"  It  takes  a  great  many  steps  to  do  even  that,"  said 
Daffy,  meekly ;  "  but  you  are  weak  yet,  Dolly,  and  a 
little  thing  troubles  you." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  sickness  has  injured 
my  mind  ?"  said  the  incensed  milliner ;  "  that 's  a  pretty 
story  to  get  about  among  my  customers.  I  could  trim 
twenty  bonnets  if  I  chose.  I  am  not  so  far  gone  as  you 
think  for;  perhaps  you  was  looking  forward  to  the 
time  when  Dolly  Smith  would  be  taken  off  the  sign 
board,  and  Daffodil  put  up  instead  ;  perhaps  Rose  was 
to  be  your  head  apprentice  ;  perhaps  so." 

"  Oh,  Dolly,"  said  Daffy,  shrinking  away  from  her 
cutting  tone,  "  how  can  you  ?" 


ROSE     CLARK.  103 

"  Well,  I  >m  good  for  a  little  while  longer,"  said 
Dolly,  "  any  how  ;  now  see  that  child,"  said  she,  point 
ing  to  Rose,  who  had  just  entered  the  door,  "I  bought 
those  shoes  just  before  I  was  sick,  and  now  her  toes 
are  all  out  of  'ern.  See  there,  now.  Do  you  suppose  I 
can  afford  to  find  you  in  shoes  at  that  rate  ?"  and  she 
seized  Rose  by  the  shoulders,  pressing  her  thumb  into 
her  arm-pit,  in  a  way  to  make  her  wince. 

"  I  'm  very  sorry,  Aunt  Dolly,  but  I  had  so  much 
running  to  do.  Had  I  thought  of  it,  I  would  have 
taken  off  my  shoes." 

"And  worn  your  stockings  all  out,"  said  Dolly, 
"  that  would  have  been  a  great  saving,  indeed." 

"  I  would  have  taken  them  off,  too,  had  I  thought 
you  would  have  liked  it,  Aunt  Dolly." 

"  And  gone  barefoot  here,  in  my  house,  so  that  the 
neighbors  might  say  I  did  n't  half  clothe  you.  You 
never  will  pay  for  what  you  cost,"  said  Dolly,  pushing 
her  roughly  away.  "  You  are  just  like  your  mother — 
ex-actly.  ISTow  begin  to  cry — that 's  mother,  too,  all 
over." 

"  If  I  were  only  with  her,"  thought  Rose,  as  she 
seated  herself  at  her  work. 

Daffy  stooped  near  to  Rose,  ostensibly  to  pick  up  a 
spool  of  thread,  but  in  fact  to  whisper,  "  Never  you 
mind,  Rose  ;  it  is  always  the  darkest  just  before  day." 

A  few  weeks  of  returning  health  and  successful  bon 
net-making  made  the  amiable  Dolly  a  little  more  en- 


104  ROSE     CLARK. 

durable  to  every  body  but  our  heroine ;  for  she  had 
settled  it  in  her  mind  that  scant  fare  and  harsh  treat 
ment  were  the  only  means  to  keep  Maria's  child  where 
she  should  be. 

It  was  Saturday  morning,  or,  in  other  words,  Dolly's 
baking-day.  You  might  have  known  it  by  the  way  the 
tables  and  chairs  spun  round,  the  window-sashes  flew 
up  and  down,  and  by  the  pop-gun  curtness  of  Dolly's 
questions  and  answers.  Every  body  gave  Dolly  a  wide 
berth  on  Saturday;  even  the  cat  kept  out  of  doors  till 
the  last  smoking  loaf  was  taken  from  the  oven,  and 
Dolly  had  reseated  herself  at  her  usual  post  behind  the 
counter.  Poor  Daffy  dodged  round  in  the  most  diplo 
matic  manner,  and  never  ventured  a  disclaimer  for  any 
sin,  how  heinous  soever,  with  which  Dolly  might  wrong 
fully  charge  her.  With  Rose  it  was  always  '  Saturday,' 
and  so  she  experienced  no  unusual  flutter  when  Dolly 
bade  her  follow  her  into  the  kitchen,  "  as  it  was  high 
time  she  learned  to  do  the  baking." 

"  Here,  now,"  said  Dolly,  "  down  with  you  in  that 
chair,  and  see  if  you  can  stone  those  raisins  decently. 
Mind  that  you  whistle  all  the  while  you  are  doing  it,  I 
don't  want  them  all  eat  up;  raisins  cost  something, 
they  are  very  much  like  you  in  that  respect." 

Rose  took  the  wooden  bowl  in  her  lap,  and  com 
menced  her  task,  though  she  could  not  exactly  under 
stand  how  she  was  to  learn  to  bake  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  raisins. 


ROSE     CLAEK.  105 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Rose,  as  Dolly  measured  out 
some  lard,  and  put  it  on  the  table. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  it  is,  for  mercy's  sake  ?  I 
dare  say  you  thought  it  was  cheese.  It  would  be  just 
like  you ;  its  lard,  of  course." 

"  How  much  did  you  put  in,  Aunt  Dolly?" 

"  The  usual  quantity;  how  do  you  suppose  my  pies 
would  taste,  if  I  made  them  helter-skelter?" 

"  That's  why  I  asked  you,"  answered  Rose,  meekly. 

"  WeU,  how  much  did  I  put  in  ?  Why,  there 's  that 
bowl  full,"  said  Dolly,  "haven't  you  got  eyes?" 

"  But  if  that  bowl  should  get  broke,  Aunt  Dolly,  I 
could  n't  tell,  unless  I  had  another  exactly  that  size,  how 
much  to  take." 

"  I  suppose  it  must  needs  be  a  yellow  bowl,  too," 
sneered  Dolly,  "just  like  this,  with  a  black  run  round 
the  edge ;  how  ridikilis ! 

"  Is  n't  there  any  rule  ?"  asked  Rose,  despondingly ; 
"  how  shall  I  know  when  I  get  it  right?" 

"  Why,  go  by  your  common  sense,  of  course  ;  how 
ridikilis ;  there,  now,  just  see  how  you  have  cut  those 
apples,  all  sorts  of  ways ;  wasted  half  of  'em  in  the 
parings." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Rose,  "  I  was  trying  to  learn  how 
you  made  that  crust — how  much  butter  is  there  there, 
Aunt  Dolly?" 

"Why,  those  two  pieces,  don't  you  see?  what  silly 
questions  you  ask." 

5* 


106  ROSE     CLARK. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  learn,"  said  the  bewildered 
Rose,  "  I  don't  believe  I  coiild  do  it." 

"  I  dare  say  you  could  n't ;  you  are  just  as  stupid 
about  that  as  you  are  about  every  thing  else.  You  are 
just  like  your  mother,  ex-actly." 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?"  asked  Rose,  as  Dolly, 
having  made  her  paste,  put  a  small  dab  of  dough  in 
the  mouth  of  the  oven. 

"  'Cause  I  felt  like  it,"  said  Dolly,  "  it  don't  look  like 
a  pudding,  does  it,  and  it  is  n't  a  pie ;  I  dare  say  you  'd 
stare  at  it  till  the  millennium,  without  ever  guessing 
what  it  was  for;  come,  stone  your  raisins;  you  won't 
ge$  done- till  next  Christmas;  of  course,  if  you  had  any 
sense, "you'd  know  that  it  was  a  piece  of  dough  put 
there  to  try  the  heat  of  the  oven — you  are  the  tire- 
somest  little  young  one  I  ever  saw ;  you  always  talk  at 
me,  till  I  'm  all  gone  at  the  stomach." 

"  Why  did  you  stand  some  of  the  pies  up  on  bricks 
in  the  oven,  and  set  others  on  the  oven  floor  ?"  asked 
Rose,  a  short  time  after. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Dolly,  "that  goes  ahead  of  any 
thing  you  have  said  yet ;  if  it  was  n't  for  letting  my 
oven  cool,  I  could  hold  my  sides  and  laugh  an  hour ;  a 
smart  cook  you  'd  make  ;  don't  you  see  that  there 's 
either  too  many  pies  or  too  small  an  oven,  and  that  by 
standing  bricks  endways  between  the  plates,  and  put 
ting  pies  on  top  of  'em,  I  can  get  lots  more  room,  you 


BOSE     CLARK.  107 

bom  fool !  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  stupid  thing  ?" 
asked  Dolly,  turning  to  Daffy. 

"  But  it 's  all  new  to  her,  you  know,"  said  Daffy, 
apologetically. 

"  Well,  new  or  old,  that  child  never  will  be  good  for 
any  thing,  with  all  my  trying ;  she 's  just  like  her  moth 
er,  ex-actly." 

"There,  now,"  said  Dolly,  "I  am  going  into  the 
bed-room  to  lie  down ;  now  see  if  you  have  sense 
enough  to  clear  up  here ;  get  the  dough  off"  that  pan 
and  rolling-pin,  put  away  the  dr edging-box,  and  salt, 
and  lard,  and  butter,  and  things;  throw  away  those 
apple  chunks  and  raisin  stuns,  wash  off  the  table,  scrub 
up  the  floor,  rinse  out  the  dish-towels,  and  don't  be  all 
day  about  it." 

As  Dolly  slammed  the  door  to  behind  her,  Rose  sat 
down  on  one  of  the  kitchen  chairs,  leaned  her  head  on 
the  table,  and  wept;  she  was  growing  older,  and 
more  capable  of  judging  of  the  gross  injustice  done 
her. 

Bitter,  despairing  thoughts  came  into  her  gentle 
heart,  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  more  patiently  she  bore 
her  cross,  the  heavier  it  grew.  She  wondered  if  she 
could  be  worse  off  if  she  ran  away,  with  the  earth  for 
her  pillow,  the  skies  for  her  shelter  ?  Surely,  strangers 
would  not  be  more  unfeeling  than  Dolly. 

Oh,  how  could  Dolly  be  sister  to  the  gentle  mother, 
whom  she  had  seen  drooping  Away  day  by  day,  and 


108  ROSE     CLAEK. 

whose  sweet,  tender  eyes  had  never  yet  faded  from 
her  sight.  Rose  remembered  the  murmured  prayer 
with  which  she  drew  her  little  head  upon  her  bosom 
the  day  she  died,  and  now — she  looked  hopelessly 
about  her.  Hark — she  thought  she  heard  her  name 
murmured  in  those  same  sweet,  loving,  maternal  ac 
cents. 

"Rose!" 

Was  it  fancy  ?  No !  A  bunch  of  flowers  glanced 
through  the  open  window  and  fell  at  her  feet;  a 
paper  was  twisted  round  the  stem,  and  on  it  was  written, 

<f  FOB  THE  BABY'S  FETEM),  LITTLE  ROSE. 

"  When  thy  father  and  thy  mother  forsake  thee,  then  the  Lord 
mil  take  thee  up." 

A  bright  smile  came  to  Rose's  lip,  and  with  a  hur 
ried  glance  around  the  kitchen,  she  hid  the  bouquet  in 
her  bosom,  and  stepped  lightly  to  her  tasks. 

The  baby's  mother  loved  her;  the  flowers  were 
rightly  named — Heart's-ease. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"DON'T  you  think  you  are  al-i-t-t-le  hard  on  Rose ?" 
asked  Daffy,  as  Dolly  reseated  herself  behind  the 
counter,  after  her  nap. 

"Hard  on  her?  to  feed  her,  and  clothe  her,  and 
keep  her  out  of  the  alms-house,"  said  Dolly.  "  Dread 
ful  hard,  that  is." 

"  But  you  know  you  speak  pretty  sharp  to  her,  and 
she  does  try  to  do  right,  Dolly." 

"  So  she  ought,"  said  Dolly,  tartly. 

"  Yes — but  you  know  some  children  would  get  clean 
discouraged,  if  they  were  never  praised." 

"Let  her  get  discouraged,  then,  I  don't  care,  so 
long  as  she  does  what  I  tell  her." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  spoil  her  temper,  by  and  by, 
and  make  it  hard  for  you  to  get  along  with  her." 

"  No  fear  of  that,"  answered  Dolly,  glancing  up  at 
her  small  riding-whip. 

"  I  have  finished  in  the  kitchen,  Aunt  Dolly,"  said 
Rose.  "Shall  I  go  take  my  sewing." 

"Of  course,"  said  Dolly.  "You  might  know  that, 
without  asking." 


110  ROSE     CLAEK. 

"  Looking  pale,  is  she  ?"  said  Dolly,  turning  to  Daffy, 
"  did  you  see  what  a  bright  color  she  had  when  she 
came  in,  and  how  her  eyes  sparkled  ?" 

"  I  never  saw  her  look  so  before,"  replied  Daffy ;  "  I 
wonder  wThat  has  come  over  her." 

"Nothing  has  come  over  her,  except  that  it  has 
done  her  good  to  work ;"  said  Dolly  "  talk  about  my 
being  'hard  on  her,'  indeed." 

"Good  morning,  Dolly!  A  paper  of  No.  nine 
needles,  sharps,  if  you  please — have  you  heard  the 
news  ?" 

"  No,"  exclaimed  Dolly  and  Daffy  in  a  breath. 

"  Well — Miss  Pettingill  was  down  to  Miss  Gill's  to 
tea  last  night,  and  Miss  Gill  was  to  work  the  day  be 
fore  at  Deacon  Grant's ;  and  she  said  Deacon  Grant 
and  Deacon  Tufts  were  closeted  in  the  back  parlor  all 
the  afternoon,  and  Miss  Gill  listened  at  the  key-hole, 
and  she  heard  them  say,  that  the  minister  ought  to  go 
off  on  a  little  journey  with  his  wife,  because  they  were 
so  low  sperrited  about  the  baby,  and  they  are  going  to 
raise  the  funds  to  send  him  to  the  springs  or  some 
where,  I  don't  know  where.  Miss  Gill  could  n't  hear 
the  whole  of  it,  because  she  was  afraid  of  being  caught 
listening." 

"  I  can  tell  them  they  won't  raise  ar/y  funds  out  of 
me,"  said  Dolly — "  Do  I  ever  go  to  the  springs  ?  Do 
I  ever  get  low-spirited  ?  When  minister's  folks  want 
to  go  on  a  frolic  they  always  get  up  some  such  non- 


ROSE     CLAEK.  Ill 

sense,  and  the  parish  has  to  pay  the  fiddler.  It  won't 
do,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  shan't  give  the  first  red  cent  to 
ward  it.  His  wife  is  going  too,  I  'spose." 

"  Yes — both  on  'em — they  are  both  all  doym  at  the 
heel.  I  'm  sorry  for  'em." 

"  Well,  I  ain't,"  said  Dolly — "  babies  is  as  plenty  as 
blackberries,  for  the  matter  of  that ;  they  may  have  a 
dozen  more  yet,  and  if  they  don't,  why  then  they  will 
have  more  time  to  call  on  the  parish,  and  make  ser 
mons  and  things — it  is  ridikilis ! 

Tears  rolled  slowly  away.  Difftown,  doomed  to 
stereotyped  dullness,  remained  in  statu  quo.  It  had 
still  its  "  trainings"  on  the  green,  its  cattle-fair  Mon 
days,  and  its  preceding  Sabbaths  in  which  herds  of 
cattle,  driven  into  the  village  on  that  day  to  'save 
time'  (as  if  time  was  ever  saved  or  gained  by  breaking 
the  fourth  commandment),  ran  bleating  round  the 
little  church,  and  with  the  whoas  of  their  drivers, 
drowned  the  feeble  Mr.  Clifton's  voice ;  feeble,  thousrh 

7  7  cD 

he  still  labored  on,  for  consumption  lent  its  unnatural 
brightness  to  his  eye,  and  burned  upon  his  hollow 
cheek ; — the  parsonage  was  doubly  drear  now,  for  the 
gentle  form  which  flitted  around  it,  had  lain  down 
long  since  with  "the  baby,"  an  I  the  broken  band  was 
destined  soon  to  be  complete. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

"  'MosT  there,  driver  ?"  thundered  out  a  red-faced 
man,  as  he  thrust  his  frowsy  head  out  of  the  stage-coach 
window. 

"  'Most  there  ?  Sahara  is  nothing  to  this  sand-hill ; 
phew !  touch  up  yer  hosses,  can't  you  ?  I  'm  perspiring 
like  an  eel  in  a  frying-pan." 

"  So  are  my  horses,"  answered  the  driver,  sulkily,  "  I 
can't  run  them  up  hill,  this  weather,  to  please  you." 

It  was  hot.  The  dust-begrimed  leaves  by  the  road 
side  hung  limp  and  motionless:  the  cattle  lay  with 
protruding  tongues  under  the  broad  tree  shadows; 
not  a  single  friendly  cloud  obscured  the  fierce  bright 
ness  of  the  sun-rays,  while  the  locust  shrilly  piped  his 
simoom  song  in  triumph. 

"  In-fern-al !"  growled  the  fat  man  on  the  back  seat, 
as  he  wiped  his  rubicund  face  with  a  soiled  cotton 
handkerchief. 

"  Swearing  will  not  make  thee  any  cooler,  friend," 
quietly  remarked  a  drab  bonnet  by  his  side. 

"  Did  thee  ever  try  it,  ma'am  ?»  asked  the  irritated 


EOSE     CLARK.  113 

FalstafF,  mimicking  her  tone,  "'cause  if  thee  hasn't, 
thee  is  not  qualified  to  judge  on  that  point." 

"Did  thee  ever  roll  down  that  precipice?"  asked 
the  drab  bonnet,  "  yet  thee  knows  if  thee  should  it 
would  certainly  harm  thee." 

"  Keen,"  muttered  the  fat  man  to  a  young  lady  who 
eat  near  him,  as  a  suppressed  titter  ran  round  the 
coach.  "  These  women  always  trip  up  a  man  in  an  ar 
gument,  not  by  any  fair  play  either,  but  by  some  such 
metaphorical  twist  as  that  now.  Well — nature  gives 
strength  to  us,  cunning  to  them ;  I  suppose  she  knows 
what  she  is  about.  Women  are  necessary  evils ;  if  we 
can  not  get  along  with  them,  we  certainly  can  not 
without  them;  I  suppose  it  is  ah1  right;"  and  he 
looked  for  a  reply  in  the  face  of  the  young  lady  whom 
he  had  addressed. 

She  seemed  not  to  have  heard  any  thing  which  had 
passed ;  her  large,  dark  eyes  were  bent  upon  an  infant 
who  lay  asleep  on  her  lap,  a  very  cupid  for  grace  and 
beauty.  The  child  could  scarcely  have  been  her  own, 
for  she  could  not  have  numbered  more  than  sixteen 
summers ;  and  yet  there  was  the  same  full  red  lip,  the 
same  straight  nose,  and  the  same  long  curved  lashes. 
The  intense  heat  which  had  coarsened  the  features  of 
her  companions  served  only  to  have  heightened  the 
beauty  of  the  young  girl ;  deepening  the  rose  on  her 
lip  and  cheek,  and  moistening  her  tresses  till  they 
curled  round  her  open  brow  like  vine  tendrils. 


114  EOSE     CLAEK. 

"  This  is  the  house  miss,"  said  the  driver,  throwing 
open  the  door,  and  looking  in.  "  This  is  old  Ma'am 
Bond's,  miss." 

The  young  girl  colored  slightly,  and  roused  the  little 
sleeper  on  her  lap,  who  opened  his  large  brown  eyes,  and 
yawned  just  enough  to  show  off  two  little  snowy  teeth, 
and  a  very  bewitching  dimple,  and  then  cuddled  his 
little  head  into  the  girl's  neck  as  the  driver  held  out  his 
arms  to  take  him. 

The  driver  deposited  his  charge  and  their  scanty 
baggage,  on  the  front  stoop  of  the  old  wooden  house, 
and  remounting  his  box,  gave  his  horses'  ears  a  profes 
sional  touch  with  his  long  whiplash.  Turning  to  give 
his  ex-passengers  a  parting  glance,  he  said : 

"  Wonder  if  that  girl  is  the  child's  mother  ?  Can't 
be,  though,"  said  he,  still  gazing  at  her  slight  figure ; 
"she's  nothing  but  a  child  herself.  That  boy  is  a 
beauty,  any  how,  should  n't  mind  owning  him  myself. 
I  'm  beat  if  any  parson  could  call  him  totally  depraved. 
That  girl  can't  be  his  mother,  though — she's  too 
young." 

Yes,  young  in  years  ;  but  what  is  the  dial's  finger  to 
those  who  live  years  in  a  lightning  moment,  or  to 
whom  an  hour  inay  be  the  tortoise  creep  of  a  century  ? 

Yes,  young  in  years ;  the  face  may  be  smooth  and 
fair,  while  the  heart  is  wrinkled ;  the  eye  may  be 
bright,  though  the  fire  which  feeds  it  is  drying  up  the 
life-blood. 


EOSECLAKK.  115 

Yes,  young  in  years;  but  old  in  sorrow — a  child, 
and  yet  a  woman ! — a  mother,  but  the  world  said,  not 
a  wife. 

Rat — tat — the  dilapidated  brass  knocker  is  as  old  as 
its  mistress.  The  young  girl  draws  a  glove  from  her 
small  hand,  and  applies  her  knuckles  to  the  sun-blis 
tered  door.  Old  Mrs.  Bond  toddles  to  the  threshhold. 
With  what  a  stony  look  the  stranger  meets  her 
curious  gaze !  With  what  a  firm  step  she  crosses  the 
threshhold ;  as  if,  child-mother  as  she  was,  she  had 
rights  that  must  not  be  trampled  on.  But  see,  her  eye 
moistens,  and  her  lip  quivers.  Harshness  she  was  pre 
pared  for — kindness  she  knows  not  how  to  bear. 

"  You  must  be  very  weary,"  said  good  Mrs.  Bond 
to  Rose,  as  she  held  out  her  matronly  arms  for  little 
Charley.  "  Poor  little  fellow !"  and  she  held  a  glass 
of  cold  spring  water  to  his  parched  lips  ;  "  how  pleas 
ant  he  is  ;  and  the  weather  so  warm  too." 

"  Charley  is  a  good  boy,"  said  the  young  mother, 
pushing  back  the  moist  curls  from  his  temples,  with  a 
sad  pride. 

"It  is  a  very  pleasant  country  through  which  you 
passed  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  Bond,  "  though  mayhap  you 
were  to$  weary  to  look  at  it." 

"  Is  it  ?"  answered  Rose,  languidly. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  lie  down,"  suggested 
the  old  lady,  kindly ;  "  and  your  little  room  is  quite 


116  ROSE     CLARK. 

ready.  Your  aunt,  Mrs.  Howe,  sent  us  word  you 
would  be  here  to-day." 

The  old  stony  look  came  back  to  Rose's  face,  and 
she  stepped  like  a  young  queen,  as  she  tossed  the  boy 
carelessly  over  her  shoulder,  and  followed  the  old  lady 
up  the  narrow  stairs  to  her  own  room. 

"Mrs.  Howe  was  here  yesterday  in  her  carriage," 
said  Mrs.  Bond.  "  She  left  this  letter  for  you,"  hand 
ing  it  to  Rose  as  she  spoke.  "  Here  are  water  and 
towels,  if  you  would  like  to  bathe  the  little  fellow. 
We  have  no  closets,  but  I  have  driven  up  some  nails 
for  your  clothes.  I  hope  you  will  be  comfortable. 
Shall  I  close  the  blinds  for  you  ?" 

"  ISTo,  thank  you,"  said  Rose ;  "  I  am  obliged  to  you  j 
it  is  very  comfor — "  but  the  word  died  upon  her  lips, 
and  she  stooped  over  Charley  to  conceal  the  rebellious 
tears,  as  Mrs.  Bond  left  the  room. 

Yes,  every  thing  was  neat  and  clean — but  so  bare 
and  desolate.  The  old-fashioned  windows  were  mere 
port-holes,  and  so  high  that  as  Rose  sat  she  could  only 
see  the  blue  sky,  and  the  tops  of  the  waving  trees. 
There  was  a  yellow  wash-stand,  a  bed,  a  table,  and 
two  chairs.  Colored  engravings  of  Joan  of  Arc  and 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots  habited  alike,  hung  in  wooden 
frames  on  the  wall.  The  floor  was  uncarpeted,  and 
huge  beams  crossed  the  ceiling. 

As  Rose  looked  about  her,  she  drew  a  long  weary 
breath,  and  stretched  out  her  arms,  as  if  imploring 


EOSE     CLAEK.  117 

some  invisible  aid.    The  babe  crowed  and  smiled ;  the 
trail  of  the  serpent  was  not  in  his  Eden. 

Untying  her  bonnet,  Rose  broke  the  seal  of  the  let 
ter  in  If  er  hand,  and  read  as  follows : 

"  You  must  be  aware  that  you  have  built  up  a  wall 
between  yourself  and  the  virtuous  of  your  own  sex;  you 
must  know  that  you  have  no  claim  upon  the  love  or  sym 
pathy  of  any  such.  I  presume,  like  others  of  your 
class,  you  excuse  your  sin  to  yourself,  and  are  quite 
ready  to  meet  me,  your  only  relative,  whom  you  have 
disgraced,  with  a  plausible  story  of  your  marriage.  It 
is  quite  useless.  I  shall  never  associate  with  you. 
Still  I  am  willing  to  provide  you  a  shelter  with  Mrs. 
Bond  for  two  months,  till  your  child  (it  is  a  great  pity 
it  lived)  is  that  mach  older.  I  shall  pay  but  a  small 
sum  for  your  board,  as  I  expect  you  to  do  your  own 
washing  and  the  child's,  and  assist  Mrs.  Bond  in  the 
house  work.  You  are  a  sad  disgrace  to  us.  My  hus 
band  is  just  nominated  for  mayor.  I  have  given  orders 
to  Mrs.  Bond  and  some  of  the  neighbors  to  watch  you 
closely.  If  you  walk  out  alone,  or  receive  visitors,  my 
allowance  is  at  once  withdrawn.  One  would  think, 
however,  you  would  have  little  desire  to  show  yourself. 
I  hope  you  will  repent  of  the  disgrace  you  have  brought 
upon  us.  DOLLY  HOWE." 

Rose  sprung  up  and  paced  the  chamber  floor.  The 
veins  in  her  temples  swelled  almost  to  bursting.  Her 


118  KOSE     CLA.EK. 

large  dark  eyes  flashed,  and  her  teeth  closed  over  her 
full  red  lip  till  the  blood  almost  started,  and  tearing  the 
letter  into  pieces,  she  trampled  it  under  foot.  The 
babe  crept  smiling  after,  picking  up  the  bits  as  they  fell 
from  her  hand.  With  a  quick  grasp  she  wrenched  them 
from  his  tiny  hand,  trampling  them  again  under  foot. 
Then,  as  the  boy  uttered  a  low,  grieved  cry,  she 
snat'ched  him  to  her  breast,  covered  him  with  kisses, 
and  throwing  herself  upon  the  bed,  burst  into  a  long 
and  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

And  thus  they  sobbed  themselves  to  sleep,  the  child 
and  the  child  mother,  pure  alike  in  His  eyes  who  judg- 
eth  not  by  outward  appearance,  and  to  whom  the  se 
crets  of  all  hearts  are  known. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

IN  a  private  parlor  of  one  of  our  great  Southern 
cities  sat  two  young  men,  in  dressing-gowns,  smoking- 
caps,  and  slippers.  On  a  table  between  them  stood  a 
silver  cigar-stand,  a  bottle  of  wine  covered  with  cob 
webs,  and  two  empty  glasses.  The  room  was  exqui 
sitely  furnished,  with  the  exception  of  some  questionable 
drawings  upon  the  walls,  and  the  young  men  them 
selves  were  what  boarding-school  misses  would  have 
called  "  perfect  loves."  Their  hands  were  very  white, 
their  whiskers  in  a  high  state  of  cultivation,  their 
cravats  were  quite  miraculous,  and  their  diamond  rings 
of  the  purest  water. 

"  Is  this  your  last  trophy  ?"  asked  Grey,  poising  a 
slipper  of  Cinderella  dimensions  on  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"  That  ?  not,  by  a  score,"  carelessly  answered  Vin 
cent,  changing  his  diamond  ring  to  the  other  hand ; 
"  that  belongs  to  the  pretty  boarding-school  girl.  I 
really  had  quite  forgotten  her.  I  wonder  what  ever 
became  of  her  ?  She  was  a  perfect  little  Hebe,  effer 
vescent  as  Champagne,  quite  worth  a  three  months' 
siege." 


120  ROSE     CLAIIK. 

"  And  believed  herself  married  to  you,  I  suppose  ?" 
asked  Grey. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Vincent,  laughing ;  "  she  was  the 
most  trusting  little  thing  you  ever  saw,  primevally  in 
nocent  in  fact;  it  was  quite  refreshing.  How's  the 
wine,  Grey  ?" 

"  Capital,"  answered  his  friend,  refilling  his  glass  and 
holding  it  up  to  the  light  with  the  gusto  of  a  connois 
seur.  "  Capital ;  but,  Vincent,  you  are  a  wicked 
dog." 

"  Think  so  ?"  drawled  Vincent  quite  proudly,  sur 
veying  his  handsome  face  in  an  opposite  mirror. 

"  Yes,"  said  Grey,  "  I  am  bad  enough ;  but  shoot  me 
if  I  could  be  the  first  to  lead  a  woman  astray." 

"  You  sneaking  poltroon,"  laughed  Vincent ;  "  if  you 
did  not,  somebody  else  would." 

"  That  does  not  follow,"  answered  Grey ;  "  don't 
you  believe  that  there  are  virtuous  women?" 

"  Ha !  ha !  you  ought  to  heve  your  picture  taken 
now,"  laughed  Vincent.  "Propound  that  question, 
most  innocent  Joseph,  at  our  next  club-meeting,  will 
you  ?  The  explosion  of  a  basket  of  Champagne  corks 
would  be  nothing  to  the  fizz  it  would  make.  A  virtu 
ous  woman !  no  woman,  my  dear  boy,  was  ever  virtu 
ous  but  for  lack  of  temptation  and  opportunity." 

"  I  will  never  subscribe  to  that,"  said  Grey,  with  a 
flushed  cheek ;  "  no — not  as  I  honor  my  mother  and 
my  sister." 


ROSE     CL  All  K.  121 

Vincent's  only  answer  was  a  slight  elevation  of  the 
eyebrow,  as  he  pushed  the  bottle  again  toward  Grey. 

"  No,  thank  you ;  no  more  for  me,"  answered  Grey, 
in  disgust,  as  he  left  the  room. 

"  Green  yet,"  said  Vincent,  lighting  a  cigar.  "  I 
can  remember  when  I  was  just  such  a  simpleton. 
'  Virtuous  women !'  If  women  are  virtuous,  why  do 
they  give  the  cold  shoulder  to  steady  moral  fellows,  to 
smile  on  a  reckless  dog  like  me  ?  I  have  always  found 
women  much  more  anxious  to  ascertain  the  state  of  a 
man's  purse  than  the  state  of  his  morals.  If  I  am  an 
infidel  on  the  subject  of  female  virtue,  women  have 
only  themselves  to  thank  for  it.  I  believed  in  it 

once." 

6 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

"SHE'S  down  stairs,  she's  back  again,  the  young 
woman  and  her  baby.  I  knew  you  would  n't  like  to 
hear  it,  ma'am." 

"  Go  down  stairs,  and  tell  her  I  am  not  at  home, 
Patty." 

"  I  did  tell  her  so,  knowing  your  mind,  ma'am ;  but 
she  said  I  was  mistaken,  for  that  she  saw  you  at  the 
window." 

"  Say  that  I  am  sick,  then,  and  can  not  be  dis 
turbed  ;  and,  Patty,  tell  the  cook  to  see  that  her  cus 
tards  are  ready  for  dessert;  Mr.  Finels  dines  here 
to-day." 

Patty  retired  with  her  instructions,  but  presently 
returned  in  great  haste. 

"  Bless  us  all,  ma'am,  the  baby  is  taken  in  a  fit  in 
the  entry,  and  is  rolling  up  its  eyes  horrid !  Shall  I 
tell  her  to  go  away  with  it  ?" 

"Yes!"  said  Mrs.  Howe — "yes — no — how  provok 
ing  !  I  don't  believe  it — I  '11  go  down  myself,  Patty." 

Throwing  a  large  cashmere  shawl  over  her  robe-de- 
chambre,  Mrs.  Howe  went  reluctantly  down  stairs. 


&OSE     CLABK.  123 

The  baby  did  look  "  horrid,"  as  Patty  had  said,  and 
Rose  stood  over  it  winging  her  hands. 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  have  come  back  for,"  grum 
bled  Mrs.  Howe,  turning  her  back  upon  the  convulsed 
baby. 

"What  shall  I  do?  oh,  tell  me  what  to  do  for 
him !"  said  the  young  mother — "  he  will  die !  Charley 
will  die !" 

"All  the  better  for  him,  if  he  should,"  said  Mrs.  Howe. 

"  Oh,"  said  Rose,  kneeling  at  her  feet,  "  you  have 
lost  a  little  one,  can  not  you  pity  me." 

Even  this  touching  appeal  would  have  been  power 
less  to  move  Mrs.  Howe,  had  not  the  twitch  of  the 
bell-wire  announced  a  visitor  at  the  front  door.  Hast 
ily  running  to  Patty,  she  said,  "  Take  that  child  up 
stairs  and  lay  it  on  your  bed.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  him ;  my  nerves  are  all  unstrung ;  take 
him  away ;  I  suppose  he  will  come  out  of  his  fit  before 
long." 

Patty  stooped  to  take  Charley  in  her  arms,  but 
Rose  anticipated  her,  and  carried  the  poor  tortured 
child  up  into  the  attic.  He  came  out  of  that  fit  only 
to  go  into  another,  and  Rose,  agonized  beyond  endur 
ance,  fell  senseless  across  the  bed. 

"  They  are  dying,  both  of  'em !"  screamed  Patty, 
bursting  into  Mrs.  Howe's  room  again;  "you  will 
have  to  attend  to  it  now,  ma'am,  sure.  I  know  I  can't 
stay  by  them." 


124  EOSE     CLARK. 

"  Go  for  the  doctor,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  think 
ing  this  might  be  preferable  to  a  coroner's  inquest; 
"  not  our  doctor,  but  the  one  in  the  next  street." 

"Your  doctor  is  the  nearest,  ma'am,"  suggested 
Patty. 

"  Do  as  I  tell  you !"  said  the  frowning  Mrs.  Howe, 
going  leisurely  up  stairs. 

"  Just  see  what  a  spot  of  work,  ma'am,"  said  the 
cook,  who  had  run  up  to  see  what  was  the  matter ; 
"  that  child  must  be  undressed,  ma'am,  and  put  into  a 
warm  bath." 

"  Let  it  alone,"  said  Mrs.  Howe ;  "  the  doctor  will 
be  here  presently.  How  do  you  know  it  is  the  right 
thing  to  do  with  the  child  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  ma'am,  begging  your  pardon ;  my 
sister's  child  had  just  the  like  of  those  fits,  and  that 
was  what  we  always  did  for  him,  but  just  as  you  please, 
ma'am — had  n't  you  better  hold  some  smelling-salts  to 
its  mother's  face  ?  she 's  in  a  faint,  like." 

Patty  arrived  at  length  with  the  doctor,  who  puffed 
considerably  at  climbing  so  many  stairs,  and  discon 
certed  Mrs.  Howe  still  more  by  his  keen  survey  of  the 
barren  attic,  Mrs.  Howe's  expensive  apparel,  and  the 
two  patients  before  him. 

Charley  he  pronounced  in  a  critical  state,  owing  to 
the  length  of  time  he  had  lain  in  the  fit ;  he  then  wrote 
a  prescription,  applied  some  remedies,  and  recom 
mended  perfect  quiet,  and  attentive  nursing. 


ROSE     CLARK.  125 

"  He  can  not  be  moved,  then  ?"  asked  Rose,  who 
had  recovered  sufficiently  to  know  what  was  passing. 

"  By  no  means,"  said  the  doctor,  "  is  it  your  child  ?" 
he  asked,  looking  with  surprise  at  the  girlish  form  be 
fore  him. 

Rose  bowed  her  head. 

"In  fact,"  said  the  doctor,  "I  shouldn't  think  you 
were  fit  to  go  yourself,  if  that  were  your  intention." 

Mrs.  Howe's  face  flushed,  and  she  walked  up  and 
down  the  floor  uneasily. 

"  How  long  before  he  will  be  able  to  be  moved  ?" 
asked  Rose. 

"  It  is  impossible  to  tell.  I  think  he  may  have  a  run 
of  fever.  I  can  tell  better  to-morrow.  Perhaps  it 
would  be  better,  on  account  of  this  window,"  suggest 
ed  the  doctor,  as  he  pointed  to  the  broken  panes  of 
glass,  "  to  remove  the  child  into  another  room.  Don't 
you  think  so,  madam?"  he  asked,  turning  to  Mrs. 
Howe. 

"  Oh,  of  course,  certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Howe,  "  he 
ought  to  have  every  comfort  the  house  affords." 

Had  the  doctor  known  Mrs.  Howe  better,  he  would 
not  have  been  deceived  at  the  seeming  Samaritanism  of 
this  sarcastic  reply.  Rose  could  only  groan  in  anguish. 

"  It  would  be  well  to  have  those  recipes  attended  to 
as  soon  as  possible,  madam,"  said  the  doctor,  handing 
them  to  Mrs.  Howe,  "  shall  you  take  charge  of  my  pa 
tient,  madam  ?" 


126  ROSE     CLAKK. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  with  another  wither 
ing  aside  glance  at  Rose. 

"  Well,  then,  madam,  if  you  will  have  the  goodness 
to  watch  the  child  closely,  until  after  he  has  taken  his 
second  powder — you  see  there  are  two  of  them,  one  to 
be  taken  as  soon  as  it  arrives,  and  the  other  three  hours 
after.  Should  any  thing  unforeseen  occur,  you  know 
my  address,"  and  the  doctor,  resuming  his  hat  and  cane, 
left  the  room,  followed  by  Mrs.  Howe. 

"  Oh !  Charley,  Charley !"  murmured  Rose,  pressing 
her  lips  to  the  little  hot  hand  which  lay  upon  the  bed, 
"  do  not  leave  me." 

But  the  desolate  mother  had  little  time  for  reflec 
tion,  for  Mrs.  Howe  returned  immediately  after 
having  seen  the  doctor  down  stairs,  and  coming  up 
to  the  bed-side,  demanded  of  Rose  "  what  she  meant 
by  bringing  that  sick  child  into  town  to  burden 
her  ?» 

"  He  was  quite  well  when  I  started ;  I  am  very  sorry, 
very,  that  I  can  not  go  back.  I  lost  a  letter  here,  the 
only  one  I  ever  had  from — " 

"  Your  husband,  I  suppose  you  would  say,"  said  Mrs. 
Howe.  "It  is  astonishing  that  you  will  persist  in 
keeping  up  that  humbug ;  I  should  think  you  might 
have  learned  by  this  time  that  your  husband,  as  you 
call  him,  could  never  have  had  much  love  for  a  wo 
man  whom  he  has  neglected  so  long ;  and  so  all  this 
bother  has  come  of  a  search  for  a  precious  piece  of  his 


ROSE     CLARK.  127 

writing  ?  'Tis  all  a  pretense,  and  you  need  n't  believe 
that  I  don't  see  through  it." 

Rose  knew  it  was  quite  useless  to  attempt  any  justi 
fication  of  herself,  and  made  no  reply. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  sense  enough  not  to  deny  it," 
said  Mrs.  Howe,  bent  upon  irritating  her ;  "  I  am  quite 
a  match  for  your  cunning  in  every  respect,  Rose.  I 
suppose  you  will  have  to  stay  here  now,  till  the  child 
gets  a  little  better,  but  I  want  you  distinctly  to  under*- 
stand  that  you  must  wait  upon  yourself;  my  servants 
have  something  else  to  do,  and  when  you  have  occasion 
to  go  below,  see  that  you  go  down  the  back  stairs,  and 
do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  seen.  You  can  move  into 
the  next  room,  Bridget's  room,  if  the  Doctor  cares  for 
that  broken  window ;  that  is  some  of  Patty's  careless 
ness,  I  suppose.  I  shall  insist  upon  your  leaving  the 
house  at  the  earliest  possible  opportunity;  when  the 
medicine  comes  you  must  attend  to  it  yourself;"  and 
gathering  up  her  flowing  skirts,  Mrs.  Howe  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  IT  is  very  curious  that  Rose  does  not  come  back ; 
it  is  only  five  miles  into  the  city.  I  begin  to  think 
that  something  has  happened  to  the  poor  child,"  said 
old  Mrs.  Bond.  "I  feel  quite  uneasy.  Mrs.  Howe 
certainly  would  not  keep  her  any  longer  than  she 
could  help.  Something  must  have  happened;"  and 
she  walked  from,  one  window  to  the  other,  put  up  her 
spectacles,  and  took  them  out,  then  took  a  book  down 
from  the  shelf,  and  after  reading  it  upside  down  a  few 
minutes,  returned  it  to  its  place  again. 

"  I  must  certainly  go  into  town  and  see  what  is  the 
matter,"  said  she.  "I  never  shall  rest  easy  till  I 
know ;"  and  going  out  to  the  barn,  she  called  the  cow 
boy,  and  by  his  help,  harnessed  the  old  gray  horse  into 
the  chaise,  for  a  drive  into  the  city. 

It  was  slow  work,  that  ride ;  for  the  old,  stiff-jointed 
creature,  knowing  well  the  all-enduring  patience  of  his 
mistress,  crawled  leisurely  up  and  down  the  long  hills, 
stopped  to  pay  his  respects  to  every  water-trough  he 
came  across,  and  nosed  round  the  sides  of  the  road 
after  the  grass-patches,  in  the  most  zig-zag  fashion ; 


ROSE     CLARK.  129 

now  and  then  stopping  short,  and  insisting  upon  an  en 
tire  reprieve  from  locomotion,  to  be  lengthened  or 
shortened,  at  his  own  discretion.  As  to  the  whip,  old 
Gray  stood  in  no  fear  of  that,  because  his  mistress 
never  used  it  for  any  thing  but  to  drive  off  the  flies. 
It  is  not  astonishing,  therefore,  that  it  was  well  on 
toward  noon  before  he  and  Mrs.  Bond  reached  the 
city.  It  was  as  much  of  an  event  for  old  Gray,  as  for 
his  mistress,  to  see  it.  It  was  many  years  since  either 
had  been  there.  Its  kaleidoscope  frivolities  had  little 
charm  for  Mrs.  Bond ;  her  necessary  wants  were  easily 
supplied  from  the  village,  and  she  was  so  fortunate  as 
to  have  no  artificial  ones. 

Old  Gray  stopped  short,  as  the  city's  din  fell  upon 
his  unsophisticated  ear;  and  as  he  moved  on  and 
listened  to  the  lashings  less  favored  nags  were  receiv 
ing  from  merciless  drivers,  as  he  saw  the  enormous 
loads  under  which  they  staggered — stumbled — and 
oftentimes  fell  upon  the  plentifully  watered,  and  slip 
pery  pavement,  rising  (if  they  rose  at  all)  with 
strained  and  excoriated  limbs,  he  probably  thought,  if 
horses  ever  think,  that  "  God  made  the  country,  and 
man  made  the  town." 

"  Whip  up  your  old  skeleton.  Get  out  of  the  way 
there,  can't  ye?"  muttered  one  of  the  progressives. 
"Drive  to  the  left  there,  ma'am;  drive  to  the  right ; 
halt  there,  ma'am,"  and  similar  other  expostulations, 
coupled  with  invectives,  were  thundered  in  the  ears  of 
6* 


130  ROSE     CLARK. 

Mrs.  Bond;  who,  in  her  benevolenoe  of  heart,  jerked 
this  way  and  that,  backed,  sidled,  and  went  forward, 
and  in  the  vain  attempt  to  oblige  all,  displeased  every 
body ;  still  she  maintained  her  placidity,  and  smiled  as 
sweetly  as  if  every  person  in  the  blockaded  thorough 
fare  were  not  wishing  ner  in  the  torrid  zone. 

The  old  lady's  greatest  trouble,  was  her  fear  of  run 
ning  over  some  one  of  the  many  pedestrians,  of  all 
sizes  and  ages,  who  traversed  so  fearlessly  that  Babel 
of  horses  and  carriages. 

"  Dear  heart !"  she  would  ejaculate,  as  some  little 
child  made  his  unprotected  way  through  the  vehicles. 
"Dear  heart !  it  will  certainly  get  killed!" 

Good  old  soul !  she  did  not  know  how  miraculously 
city  children  live  on,  in  spite  of  crowded  streets,  school 
teachers,  milk-men,  and  foolish  mammas. 

But  at  length,  a  stable  is  reached  near  Mrs.  Howe's ; 
and  the  jolly  hostlers  nudge  each  other  in  the  ribs,  as 
the  old  ark  rattles  into  the  paved  yard;  and  Mrs. 
Bond  climbs  carefully  out,  and  resigns  old  Gray  into 
their  hands,  with  many  charges  as  to  his  plentiful  sup 
ply  of  water  and  oats.  As  the  nice  old  lady  turns  her 
back,  they  go  into  convulsions  of  merriment  over  the 
whole  establishment,  from  harness  to  hub ;  interrogat 
ing  old  Gray  about  his  pedigree  in  a  way  which  they 
think  immensely  funny. 

Mrs.  Bond  threads  her  way  along  on  foot,  now  good- 
naturedly  picking  up  a  parcel  for  some  person  who  had 


ROSE     CLARK.  131 

unconsciously  dropped  one,  now  fumbling  from  out  hei 
pocket  a  penny  for  the  little  vagrants  who  are  tossing 
mud  back  and  forth  over  the  crossings,  with  very  ques 
tionable  stubs  of  brooms,  to  the  imminent  risk  of  pe 
destrians  ;  and  now  she  slides  a  newspaper,  which  the 
truant  wind  has  displaced,  under  the  door  crack  for 
which  it  was  destined. 

Now  she  sees  a  group  of  ragged,  dirty  little  children, 
nestled  upon  a  door-step,  upon  which  they  have  spread 
out  a  dingy  cloth,  containing  old  bones,  bits  of  meat, 
cold  potatoes,  and  crusts  of  bread,  upon  which  their 
hungry  eyes  are  gloating.  It  is  too  much  for  the  old 
lady.  She  points  to  the  gutter,  where  she  wishes  their 
unwholesome  meal  thrown,  and  beckoning  them  to 
ward  a  baker's  window,  plentifully  supplies  the  whole 
party  with  fresh  bread  and  crackers. 

And  now  she  stops  short,  for  she  hears  a  name  uttered 
dear  as  her  hopes  of  heaven. 

"  Jesus  Christ !» 

The  speaker's  hands  are  not  clasped,  his  head  is  not 
bowed,  no  prayer  followed  that  dear  name  ;  it  was  not 
reverently  spoken.  She  turns  on  the  gentleman  who 
uttered  it  a  look,  not  of  reproof  but  pity — such  a  look 
as  might  have  lingered  on  the  Saviour's  face  when  he 
said,  "  Father  forgive  them  ;  they  know  not  what  they 
do." 

A  crimson  blush  overspread  his  face,  and  his  "  Par 
don  me,  madam"  was  answered  only  by  a  gathering 


132  EOSE     CLARK. 

tear  in  the  old  lady's  eye  as  she  bowed  her  head  and 
turned  slowly  away,  her  lips  moving  as  if  in  prayer. 
He  felt  it — and  the  jest  died  upon  his  lip  as  his  eyes  in 
voluntarily  followed  her  feeble  footsteps,  and  thoughts 
of  a  sainted  mother's  long-forgotten  prayers  came  rush 
ing  through  his  mind  with  childhood's  freshness. 

Ah,  who  shall  say  inlo  what  pits  of  selfish  and  un 
hallowed  pleasure  that  look  shall  haunt  the  recipient  ? 
What  night  shall  be  dark  enough  to  hide  it,  what  day 
bright  enough  to  absorb  its  intensity  ?  Who  shall  say 
that  hallelujahs  shall  not  yet  tremble  on  the  lips  where 
erst  were  curses  ? 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

MRS.  HOWE  was  lying  on  a  sofa  in  her  boudoir,  in  a 
showy  role-de-chambre  of  green,  with  cherry  facings, 
over  an  elaborately  embroidered  white  petticoat.  She 
had  on  also  toilet  slippers,  with  green  and  cherry 
trimmings,  and  a  very  fanciful  breakfast  cap. 

"Fall  fashions  open  to-day,  eh?"  said  she,  laying 
a  nicely  printed  envelope,  scented  with  "  millefleurs," 
with  which  Madame  Du  Pont  had  announced  that  im 
portant  fact  to  her  customers. 

"  Madame  will  have  loves  of  things,  just  as  she  al 
ways  does.  I  shall  be  so  happy  in  looking  them  over. 
I  think  I  must  have  a  lilac  hat ;  madame  thinks  lilac 
best  suited  to  my  complexion.  Mr.  Finels  likes  me  in 
lilac ;  as  to  John,  he  don't  appear  to  know  one  color 
from  another.  I  don't  think,  however,  a  man  ever 
knows  what  his  wife  has  on.  Madame  Du  Pont  would 
make  very  little  if  we  had  only  our  husbands  to  dress 
for ;  yes,  I  will  have  a  lilac  hat,  and  I  will  go  there  be 
fore  any  other  woman  has  a  chance  to  make  a  selection 
of  the  best.  I  must  go  in  a  carriage :  Madame  Du 
Pont  never  pays  any  attention  to  i  lady  who  comes  on 


134  ROSE     CL-A  /IK. 

foot ;  a  hackney-coach  is  terribly  vulgar.  I  must  per- 
suade  John  to  set  up  a  carriage.  I  will  contrive  the 
livery  myself.  I  wonder  what  is  our  family  coat-of- 
arms  ?  I  must  go  to  the  heraldry  office,  I  think,  and 
buy  one  ;  a  bear  would  be  most  emblematical  of  John 
— how  cross  he  is  getting !  I  never  should  get  along 
at  all  without  Finels."  And  Mrs.  Howe  drew  out  her 
gold  watch,  and  then  rising,  surveyed  herself  in  the 
long  glass. 

"  Well,  Mary,  what  is  wanted  ?" 

"  If  you  please,  ma'am,  Mr. Mr. ,  I  forget 

his  name,  is  below,  and  wants  to  speak  with  you  a 
few  minutes." 

"  You  stupid  creature,  you  should  have  brought  up 
his  card.  How  am  I  to  know  who  it  is  ?  or  whether  it 
is  worth  while  to  make  any  change  in  my  dress  or  not?" 

"  I  guess  it  is,  ma'am,"  said  Polly,  with  a  sly  look. 
« It  is— Mr. ,  Mr. Fin—  Tin—" 

"  Finels  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Howe,  innocently. 

"  That 's  just  the  name,  ma'am.  I  never  can  remem 
ber  it.  It  is  the  gentleman  who  always  says  to  me  if 
Mr.  Howe  is  busy  not  to  call  him ;  that  Mrs.  Howe 
will  do  just  as  well,"  and  Polly  grinned  behind  her 
apron  corner. 

"How  tiresome  to  call  so  early!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Howe,  with  ill-concealed  delight.  "  Well,  I  suppose 
you  must  tell  him  that  I  will  be  down  directly.  Is  the 
parlor  all  right,  Mary  ?" 


EOSE     CLAEK.  135 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  and  Mr.  Howe  has  just  gone  out." 
This  last  remark,  of  course,  was  not  heeded  by  Mrs. 

Howe,  who  was  playing  in  a  very  indifferent  manner 

with  her  cap  strings. 

"You  must  really  excuse  my  robe-de-chambre,  Mr. 
Finels,"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  making  use  of  the  only 
French  phrase  she  knew,  to  draw  attention  to  her  new 
negliyee  which  a  poor  dress-maker  had  set  up  all  night 
to  finish  for  the  present  occasion. 

"I  could  not  have  excused  you  had  you  not  worn 
it,"  said  Finels,  quite  accustomed  to  the  little*trans- 
parent  trickeries  of  the  sex,  "  it  is  in  perfect  taste,  as 
is  every  thing  you  wear ;  and  I  feel  more  particularly 
flattered  by  your  wearing  it  on  the  present  occasion, 
because  I  consider  that  when  a  lady  dispenses  with 
etiquette  in  this  way  toward  a  gentleman  friend,  she 
pays  a  silent  compliment  to  the  good  sense  of  her  vis 
itor,"  and  Finels  made  one  of  his  Chesterfieldia» 
bows,  and  placed  his  right  hand  on  his  velvet  vest. 
"Beside,  my  dear  madam,  one  who  is  so  superior  as 
yourself  to  all  the  adornments  of  dress,  should  at  any 
rate  be  exempt  from  the  tyranny  of  custom." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  minced  Mrs.  Howe,  playing  with 
her  robe  tassels,  and  trying  to  improvise  a  blush. 

"Here  is  a  volume  of  poems  which  I  had  the  luck 
to  stumble  upon  yesterday.  I  have  brought  them  to 
you,  because  I  like  to  share  such  a  pleasure  with  an 


136  ROSE     CLAEK. 

appreciative  spirit,"  said  the  wily  Finels,  who  always 
complimented  a  woman  for  some  mental,  or  physical 
perfection,  of  which  she  knew  herself  to  be  entirely  des 
titute.  "  It  is  a  book  I  could  speak  of  to  ~b\itfeio  persons, 
for  I  hoard  such  a  treasure  as  a  miser  does  his  gold." 

Mrs.  Howe  really — blushed  with  pleasure.  The 
diplomatic  Finels  was  not  astonished,  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  such  results. 

"You  will  find  some  marked  passages  here,"  said  Fi 
nels,  turning  over  the  leaves.  "  They  are  perfect  gems ; 
I  thought  of  you  when  I  read  them.  I  risk  nothing 
in  hoping  that  you  will  admire  them  equally  with  my 
self,"  and  he  handed  her  the  book.  "Is  Mr.  Howe 
not  yet  in?"  he  asked  in  a  loud  tone  of  voice  as  he 
heard  that  gentleman's  footsteps  approaching.  "Ah — 
how  d'ye  do,  Howe?  I  was  beginning  to  despair  of 
seeing  you." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,"  muttered  John,  gruffly, 
throwing  up  the  window  in  extreme  disgust  at  the 
strong  odor  of  patchouli  on  Finel's  handkerchief, 
"  thank  you,  you  are  too  good." 

"I  came,"  said  Finels,  "this  morning  to  consult 
you  on  important  business  matters.  We  literary  peo 
ple  are  sadly  deficient  in  practical  affairs,  and  I  know 
of  no  one  in  whose  judgment  I  could  so  safely  rely  as 
your  own.  Can  you  give  me  your  arm  down  street  ?" 

"Any  time  to-morrow  I  will  be  happy  to  oblige 
f ou,"  said  the  mollified  John ;  "  to-day  I  have  an  un- 


ROSE     CLAEK.  13Y 

postponable    business    engagement    with    the    stock 
holders  of  the Railroad." 

"Any  time — any  time,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Fin- 
nels,  who  was  not  at  all  sorry  for  the  reprieve;  "I 
shall  not  think  of  deciding,  at  any  rate,  until  I  see  you 
again,"  and  with  as  faultless  a  bow  to  Mrs.  Howe  as 
Finels  alone  could  make  in  a  husband's  presence,  he 
backed  gracefully  out. 

"  Finels  is  a  pretty  good  fellow,  after  all,"  said  Mr. 
Howe,  "  rather  too  much  of  a  fop.  What 's  this  ?"  he 
asked,  taking  up  the  book  which  that  gentleman  had 
left. 

"  Good  gracious,  Mr.  Howe !  see  the  paint  on  your 
new  coat,"  said  his  wife,  remembering  the  marked 
passages  and  marginal  notes,  in  the  poems,  intended 
for  her  eye  alone;  "good  gracious,  Mr.  Howe!  do 
come  up  into  my  dressing-room,  and  let  me  take  it  off 
while  it  is  fresh." 

A  little  sponge  wet  with  spirits  of  turpentine,  if  it 
did  not  obliterate  the  paint  that  never  was  there,  at 
least  obliterated  all  recollection  of  the  book  from 
John's  innocent  mind ;  and  Mrs.  Howe,  seeing  her  lord 
safely  out  of  the  house  with  his  spotless  coat,  prepared 
for  her  call  at  Du  Font's. 

"  Please,  ma'am,"  said  Patty,  "  there  is  an  old  woman 
below,  as  wants  to  see  you  bad." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  to  send  away  all  beggars,  Patty?" 

"  She  is  not  a  beggar,  and  yet  she  is  not  a  lady  ex- 


138  KOSE     CLAKK. 

actly,  and  yet  she  is?  said  the  puzzled  Patty.  "  She 
is  very  respectable,  ma'am ;  she  said  her  name  was — 
was — I  declare  ma'am,  I  am  shocking  at  names." 

"  "Well — send  her  off,  any  way,"  said  Mrs.  Howe ; 
"  tell  her  I  am  out." 

"  But  I  have  told  her  you  was  in,  ma'am,  not  know 
ing  as  you  might  want  to  see  her." 

"You  never  should  do  that,  Patty,  you  should 
always  say  that  you  will  see  if  I  am  in ;  that  gives  me 
a  chance,  you  see.  Go  tell  her  then,  that  I  am  en 
gaged." 

"  Please  ma'am,"  said  Patty,  returning  after  a  few 
minutes,  "  she  says  her  name  is  '  Mrs.  Bond,'  and  wants 
to  know  if  she  can  see  the  young  woman,  and  the  sick 
baby ;  shall  I  show  her  up  there  ?" 

"  Yes — yes — don't  bother — I  never  shall  get  off  to 
Madame  Du  Font's." 

One — two — three — four — five  pair  of  back  stairs,  dark 
as  only  city  back  stairs  can  be.  Poor  old  Mrs.  Bond 
stumbled  and  panted,  panted  and  stumbled  breath 
lessly  up  toward  the  attic. 

Patty  threw  open  the  door  of  the  cook's  room 
which  Mrs.  Howe,  out  of  her  abundance,  had  ben 
evolently  appropriated  to  the  use  of  the  sick  child. 
The  floor  was  uncarpeted,  the  window  was  without  a 
blind,  and  the  fat  cook's  ample  petticoat  had  been 
r  nned  up  by  Mrs.  Howe,  not  out  of  kindness  to 


ROSE     CLARK.  139 

the  sick  child,  but  to  keep  out  the  eyes  of  prying 
neighbors. 

Rose  sat  on  the  only  seat  in  the  room,  a  low  cricket, 
swaying  to  and  fro  with  Charley  in  her  lap,  vainly  try 
ing  to  hush  his  meanings ;  her  eyes  were  swollen  with 
weeping,  and  her  face  was  even  whiter  than  Charley's, 
for  through  the  long  weary  hours,  she  had  paced  the 
floor  with  him,  or  sat  on  the  cricket,  lulling  him  as 
best  she  could,  watching  every  change  of  expression 
in  his  little  wan  face. 

At  sight  of  Mrs.  Bond,  her  pent  up  heart  found 
vent,  and  laying  her  head  upon  her  shoulder  she  sob 
bed  aloud. 

"  Don't,  darling,  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Bond,  with  diffi 
culty  restraining  her  own  emotions  at  Rose's  distress, 
and  the  comfortless  look  of  every  thing  about  her. 
"  Dear  heart,  don't  cry ;"  and  taking  Charley  in  her 
matronly  arms,  she  pushed  Rose  gently  toward  the 
bed,  and  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  I  see — I  see" — she  whispered,  looking  round  the 
room,  "  you  need  n't  say  a  word,  dear,  it  is  hard  to 
bear ;  but  turn  over,  and  try  to  catch  a  nap  while  I 
hold  the  baby ;  and  cuddling  him  up  into  her  comfort 
ably  fat  neck,  the  good  hearted  old  lady  commenced 
her  weary  walk  up  and  down  the  attic  floor.  Her 
gentle  lulling  and  gentler  touch,  for  babies  know  well 
how  to  appreciate  an  experienced  and  skillful  hand, 
soon  soothed  the  little  sufferer.  Rose,  too,  relieved 


140  ROSE     CLAKK. 

from  the  pressure  of  responsibility  which  had  weighed 
so  heavily  on  her  inexperience,  yielded  to  the  exhaus 
tion  which  overpowered  her,  and  sank  into  a  fitful 
slumber. 

Mrs.  Bond  laid  Charley  down  on  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  enveloped  in  her  own  warm  shawl,  and  with 
velvet  tread  and  noiseless  touch,  rinsed  the  glasses  and 
spoons  which  stood  on  the  window-seat  near  her,  re 
arranged  the  cook's  petticoat  over  the  window,  and 
sat  down  to  watch  her  charge. 

How  even  those  few  hours'  sickness  had  blanched 
Charley's  cheek,  and  paled  Rose's  lip  ! — "  How  could 
Mrs.  Howe  ?" — but  no,  she  would  not  think  about  it,  if 
she  could  help  it ;  and  yet  it  was  cruel ;  no,  no,  she 
would  not  think  of  it,  and  leaning  her  head  forward 
upon  the  bed,  she  prayed  God  to  make  the  stony  heart 
a  heart  of  flesh. 

Rose  started  up — she  was  not  dreaming,  for  there 
sat  good  Mrs.  Bond,  with  her  snowy  cap  and  heart 
warming  smile. 

"  Dear  heart !  what  a  nice  little  nap  you  have  had," 
she  says,  kissing  Rose's  forehead ;  "  try  and  sleep 
again,  dear." 

"  No,"  replied  Rose,  rising  slowly ;  "  lie  down  your 
self—how  very  tired  you  must  be,  and  how  kind  you 
are !  I  don't  know  how  to  bear  such  wretched  hours 
as  I  have  had  here  ;  oh,  mother — mother !"  and  Rose 
sobbed  again. 


BOSE     CLAEK.  141 

"  There — there  !"  said  Mrs.  Bond,  wiping  Rose's 
eyes  with  her  handkerchief;  "don't  now,  there's  a 
dear.  I  don't  know  why  this  is,  but  I  know  God 
loves  us  all,  though  we  may  not  sometimes  think  so. 
Bear  it,  and  trust  Him,  dear ;  we  shall  know  all  by 
and  by.  There,  don't  cry,  now;"  and  Mrs.  Bond 
wiped  away  her  own  tears. 

A  little  stifled  moan  from  the  shawl  announced 
Charley's  waking.  Rose  took  him  up,  and  sat  down 
with  him  upon  her  lap ;  how  hot  was  his  little  head 
and  hand,  and  how  heavy  his  eye  ! 

"  Give  him  a  sup  of  cold  water,  dear ;  see  how 
parched  his  lips  are." 

. "  There  is  none  up  here,"  said  Rose.  "  Mrs.  Howe 
said  I  must  not  call  upon  the  servants,  and  I  could  not 
leave  Charley  alone  to  get  it ;  now  that  you  are  here, 
I  will  go  down  for  some,  if  you  will  take  Charley." 

Mrs.  Bond  shook  her  head,  and  motioning  Rose 
to  sit  still,  took  a  mug  in  her  hand,  and  slowly  felt  her 
way  down  the  dark  back  stairway. 

On  the  third  landing  she  had  a  little  more  light  on 
more  than  one  subject,  as  Mrs.  Howe's  "  boudoir" 
door  was  then  open  for  the  purpose  of  cleaning  it. 
What  soft,  downy  sofas  and  cushions ! — what  a  mossy 
carpet ! — what  luxurious  curtains  and  chairs !  The 
old  lady  shook  her  head  mournfully ;  and,  supporting 
herself  by  the  balustrade,  descended  another  pair. 
There  was  light  there,  too,  for  the  drawing-room  door 


142  HOSE     CLARK. 

was  open ;  no  niggard  hand  had  furnished  its  gilded 
mirrors  and  pictures,  its  lounges,  tete-a-tetes,  and  can- 
delabras  ;  there  was  no  parsimony  in  that  ample  China 
closet,  with  its  groaning  shelves  of  porcelain,  silver, 
gold,  and  cut  glass.  Down  still  another  pair  to  the 
kitchen,  whose  savory  odors  already  greeted  her  nos 
trils  ;  no  parsimony  there,  with  its  turkeys  and  chick 
ens  roasting,  its  pies  and  puddings  making,  its  custards 
and  jellies  quivering  in  costly  cut  glasses — no  parsi 
mony  there. 

"  Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  show  me  to  the 
pump  in  the  yard?"  asked  the  unsophisticated  Mrs. 
Bond. 

"  Pump  in  the  yard !  won't  this  pump  do  as  well  ?" 
asked  the  "  professed  cook,"  with  a  grin  at  one  of  her 
underlings. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  the  dignified  old  lady,  dis 
covering  her  mistake,  and  moving  toward  the  pump. 

"  Civil,"  whispered  the  cook  to  her  assistant,  "  I  am 
sorry  I  laughed  at  her.  Let  me  pump  it  for  you," 
she  said,  taking  the  pitcher  from  the  old  lady's  hand. 

"  I  will  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will,"  she  said,  "  I 
don't  understand  the  handle  of  the  pump.  Thank  you," 
said  Mrs.  Bond,  with  one  of  her  disarming  smiles,  as 
she  held  out  her  hand  for  the  pitcher. 

"  Let  me  carry  it  up  for  you,"  said  the  cook,  "  it  is 
such  a  way  up." 

"  Oh,  no !"  said  Mrs.  Bond,  quickly,  remembering 


ROSE     CLARK.  143 

what  Rose  had  told  about  Mrs.  Howe's  order  not  to 
call  on  the  servants. 

But  the  cook  was  already  out  the  door  with  the 
pitcher,  and  Mrs.  Bond  followed  her. 

"  What  has  come  over  you,  now,  I  'd  like  to  know," 
Baid  Patty,  as  the  breathless  cook  returned  to  her  tur 
keys,  "  it  is  the  first  tune  I  ever  saw  you  put  yourself 
out  to  oblige  any  body." 

"  Well,  it  won't  be  the  last  time,  if  that  old  lady  stays 
here ;  there 's  good  enough  in  me,  if  people  only  knew 
how  to  draw  it  out ;  she  does,  that 's  the  amount  of  it. 
I  wish  my  tongue  had  been  torn  out  before  I  made  fun 
of  her ;  I  felt  worse  when  she  said  c  thank  you,'  so  civil, 
than  as  if  she  had  struck  me  with  that  rolling-pin; 
she's  one  of  the  Bible  sort;  there  ain't  many  of 'em ; 
she  '11  go  to  heaven,  she  will." 

"  Well,  let  her  go,  I  'm  willing,"  said  Patty,  "  now 
sing  us  the  rest  of '  Rosy-cheeked  Molly.' " 

"  Oh,  I  can't,"  said  the  cook,  breaking  down  at  the 
end  of  the  first  verse,  "  I  wish  you  would  just  stir  that 
custard  while  I  run  up  with  this  rocking-chair  to  that 
old  lady ;  there 's  nothing  on  earth  but  a  cricket  in  that 
room  for  her  to  sit  on." 

"  You  'd  better  not,"  said  Patty,  "  Mrs.  Howe  said 
we  were  n't  one  of  us  to  do  nothing  for  them  folks  up 
stairs,  no  how." 

"  For  all  that,  I  shall,"  said  the  cook,  shouldering 
the  chair ;  "  I  am  not  afraid  of  Mrs.  Howe ;  I  know  my 


144  ROSE     CLAEK. 

value.  She  would  n't  part  with  me  for  her  eyes,  first 
because  she  likes  my  cooking,  and  second,  because 
Mrs.  Flynn,  whom  she  hates,  wants  to  get  me  away 
from  her ;  so  now ;"  and  up  stairs  she  trudged,  with  the 
rocking-chair. 

"  P-h-e-w !  there 's  some  difference  between  that  gar 
ret  and  this  kitchen,"  said  Nancy,  when  she  returned, 
"both  as  to  distance,  and  as  to  accommodations  in 
>em,"  said  she,  looking  round  upon  the  plentiful  supply 
of  viands.  "  I  begin  to  think  that  young  girl  up  there, 
and  her  baby,  are  awful  misused ;  I  don't  believe  Mrs. 
Howe's  story  about  her ;  she  don't  look  as  if  she  was  n't 
clever." 

"  Well,  you  'd  better  not  say  so,"  said  Patty ;  "  it  is 
always  my  rule  never  to  burn  my  fingers  pulling  other 
folks'  pies  out  of  the  oven." 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  Nancy,  "just  smell  that 
pastry  burning  now ;  that  rule  won't  work  in  this  kitch 
en,  any  how ;  if  Mrs.  Howe  comes  home,  she  '11  be  sure 
to  scent  it  on  the  front  door  step,  she  has  such  a  nose." 

"  So  you  think  the  little  boy  will  get  along  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Bond,  following  the  doctor  out  into  the  entry. 

"  Oh,  yes,  madam,  with  time,  and  careful  nursing ; 
though  he  would  stand  a  better  chance  if  he  had  a 
larger  apartment ;  these  attics  are  bad  for  sick  people. 
His  mother  appears  to  be  quite  worn  out." 

"  She 's  young  yet,"  said  the  old  lady,  desirous  of  at- 


EOSE     CLAKK.  145 

tributing  Rose's  distress  mainly  to  her  anxiety  for 
Charley ;  "  she  has  had  little  experience." 

The  doctor  would  have  liked  to  know  more  about 
his  patients,  but  he  had  too  much  delicacy  to  ask  ques 
tions  ;  and  placing  a  new  recipe  in  Mrs.  Bond's  hand, 
he  withdrew,  musing,  as  he  went  down  the  stairs,  on 
the  many  painful  phases  of  life  to  which  his  profession 
introduced  him,  and  which  his  skill  was  powerless  to 
remedy. 

Mrs.  Bond  kissed  Rose  and  Charley,  tenderly,  as 
she  bade  them  good-by,  for  she  could  not  leave  her 
own  household  over  night;  and  with  a  promise  to 
come  again,  and  an  entreaty  to  the  tearful  Rose  to 
bear  up,  she  took  a  reluctant  leave. 

She  would  like  to  have  seen  Mrs.  Howe  before  leav 
ing  the  house,  but  Patty  told  her  she  had  not  yet 
returned.  As  she  went  through  the  front  entry,  she 
met  Mr.  Howe  returning  to  dinner. 

"  Good-day,  sir ;  I  am  glad  to  see  you  before  I  go ; 
I  have  only  a  word ;  you  will  take  it  from  an  old  lady 
wiio  means  well :  The  baby  and  its  mother,  sir — >c  As 
ye  would  that  others  should  do  unto  you,  do  ye  even 
so  to  them ;'  "  and  with  a  gentle  pressure  of  his  hand, 
she  smiled,  bowed,  and  went  out. 

" '  As — ye — would — do — unto — them !'     What  does 

she  mean?"  said  Mr.  Howe.     "  I f supposed  they  were 

comfortable  enough.     Mrs.  Howe  told  me  so.     She 

said  they  had  a  room  and  every  thing  they  needed. 

T 


146  HOSE     CLAEK. 

Mrs.  Howe  likes  to  manage  things  her  own  way,  and  I 
let  her,"  said  the  easy  man,  hanging  his  coat  on  the 
peg  ;  "  but  if  they  are  not  comfortable,  that 's  another 
thing.  That  old  lady  meant  something.  I  must  look 
into  it — after  dinner ;  I  am  too  hungry  now." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MRS.  HOWE  returned  with  the  lilac  hat  in  her  pos 
session,  and  her  purse  lighter  by  some  scores  of  dollars. 
She  had  also  a  new  Honiton  pelerine,  a  thirty-dollar 
mouchoir,  and  a  gold  bracelet,  all  of  which  she  spread 
out  upon  the  silken  coverlet  of  her  bed,  walking  round 
and  round  it,  with  very  unequivocal  glances  of  admira 
tion. 

"  Has  that  old  woman  gone  ?"  she  asked,  as  Patty 
answered  the  bell. 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  just  gone,  and  desired  her  respects 
to  you." 

"  Well,  her  room  is  better  than  her  company.  Hand 
me  my  wine-colored  brocade,  Patty,  from  the  ward 
robe,  a  pair  of  silk  stockings,  and  my  black  satin 
slippers.  Now  give  me  my  frilled  under-sleeves.  Din 
ner  going  on,  Patty  ?  I  thought  I  smelt  something 
burning  as  I  came  in  ;  perhaps  it  was  only  my  fancy." 

"I  am  sure  it  was,  ma'am — the  pies  has  had  a  lovely 
bake,  and  so  has  the  custards  and  puddings." 

"I  hope  Nancy  put  vanilla  in  her  custards,"  said 
Mrs.  Howe.  "  Tell  her  I  want  wine  in  the  pudding- 


148  EOSE     CLAEK. 

sauce ;  and  tell  her  to  strew  grapes  over  the  dishes  of 
oranges." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"And,  Patty?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Tell  Betty — where  »s  my  other  slipper  ?  Oh ! 
here  it  is — tell  Betty — did  you  take  down  my  wine- 
colored  brocade,  Patty  ? — tell  Betty — it 's  no  matter, 
Patty ;  I  don't  know  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you." 

Patty  had  nearly  closed  the  door,  when  she  again 
heard  her  name  called. 

"  I  >ve  just  thought  what  I  wanted  to  say,  Patty : 
did  you  clean  the  silver,  this  morning  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  And  wash  the  parlor  looking-glass  ?" 

"  You  told  me  not  to  do  that,  ma'am." 

"  Oh !  so  I  did.  Where 's  my  other  under-sleeve  ? 
Gracious !  you  burned  a  hole  in  it,  ironing  it.  Oh,  no ; 
it  is  a  fuzz  of  black  silk  sticking  to  it.  There,  do  go 
along,  Patty;  I  want  to  dress;"  and  the  fussy  Mrs. 
Howe  locked  the  door,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  un 
disturbed  contemplation  of  her  new  Honiton  pelerine 
and  gold  bracelet. 

Dinner  had  been  satisfactorily  discussed,  and  Mrs. 
Howe  sat  back  in  her  cushioned  chair  to  the  work  of 
digestion,  and  self-appreciation,  while  John  retired  to 
smoke. 


ROSE     CLAKIv.  149 

A  visitor  is  announced.     (Enter  Mrs.  Flynn) 

The  usual  very  sincere  compliments,  were  tossed 
shuttle-cock  fashion  from  one  lady  to  the  other,  Mrs. 
Howe,  meanwhile,  losing  no  opportunity  to  display 
her  new  bracelet  and  settle  the  folds  of  her  new  peler 
ine,  which  Mrs.  Flynn  persistently  declined  observing. 

"  I  am  so  tired,"  groaned  Mrs.  Howe,  at  length ;  "  if 
I  am  stupid,  my  dear  creature,  you  really  must  pardon 
me,  for  I  have  been  at  Du  Font's  all  the  morning.  I 
bought  a  few  trifles  of  her,  this  pelerine,  only  forty  dol 
lars,  and  this  cheap  bracelet  for  fifty.  Du  Pont  never  is 
easy  till  I  give  her  my  opinion  of  her  new  millinery." 

"  She  prefers  the  opinion  of  one  qualified,  by  expe 
rience,  to  be  a  judge,"  said  the  vexed  Flynn,  alluding 
to  Dolly's  former  chrysalis  state. 

Mrs.  Howe  bit  her  lip,  and  pulling  the  mouchoir 
from  her  pocket,  said,  "I  forgot  to  show  you  this 
seventy-five  dollar  handkerchief.  I  did  not  need  any 
common  handkerchiefs,  but  I  bought  this  to  please  Du 
Pont." 

"  I  fancied  I  had  seen  that,  as  well  as  your  pelerine 
and  bracelet  at  Mrs.  Gardiner's  party  last  winter,"  said 
the  fibbing,  irritating  Flynn. 

"  Last  winter !" — screamed  Mrs.  Howe — "  my  dear 
creature,  I  would  n't  wear  the  same  garter  two  win 
ters." 

"  O,  I  must  have  been  thinking  of  somebody  else ; 
pardon  me,  dear,  my  memory  is  so  bad.  What  kind 


150  ROSE     CLARK. 

of  servants  have  you,  dear  ?  I  am  so  plagued  with 
servants." 

"  I  have  no  trouble,"  replied  Mrs.  Howe,  folding  her 
hands  complacently  over  her  pelerine,  "  for  I  always 
pay  the  highest  prices."  The  rising  flush  on  Flynn's 
face  announced  this  to  be  a  dead  shot. 

Taking  breath  again,  however,  she  came  gallantly  to 
the  rescue. 

"  Yes  my  dear  creature,  but  they  are  all  alike  about 
gossiping ;  now  our  Margy,  came  to  me  with  a  long 
story  about  a  baby  which  she  declares  she  saw  up  in  your 
attic,  and  a  young  girl,  beautiful  as  an  angel,  tending 
it,  and  an  old  woman,  and  a^young  doctor,  and  good 
ness  knows  what.  I  told  her  it  was  all  nonsense, 
sheer  nonsense,  for  of  course  you  would  have  spoken 
of  it  had  there  been  a  baby  in  your  house ;  did  you 
ever  hear  such  stuff?"  asked  Flynn,  with  a  triumph 
ant  air. 

"  Never,"  replied  the  exasperated  Mrs.  Howe,  stoop 
ing  to  settle  her  bracelet  to  conceal  her  vexation;  "I 
never  heed  what  they  say." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Flynn,  who  having  accom 
plished  her  mission,  was  now  ready  to  depart,  before 
the  enemy  rallied  sufficiently  to  charge  back.  "  Call 
and  see  me,  my  dear  creature ;  intimate  friends  like  us 
should  not  stand  upon  ceremony.  O,  I  forgot  to  tell 
you  Finels  called  on  me  yesterday.  Bon  jour ;"  and 
Flynn  made  good  her  retreat  with  flying  colors. 


HOSE     CLAKK.  151 

"  Spiteful  creature !"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  "  she  knows 
she  never  saw  that  pelerine,  or  bracelet,  or  mouchoir, 
before  this  morning.  I  shall  go  mad.  And  that  baby 
business,  too ;  if  she  had  not  floored  me  so  unexpectedly 
on  that,  I  could  have  said  a  few  things  that  would  have 
shut  her  mouth.  I  know  that  an  own  cousin  of  her 
husband  is  servant-man  at  Mr.  Jenks's;  but  my 
bright  thoughts  never  come  till  afterward.  Yes,  I 
will  go  and  see  her,  as  she  requested.  She  shall  hear 
of  it  yet,  and  then  we  will  see.  Finels  call  on  her  1 
Finels  requires  mind  in  a  female  friend,"  and  Dolly 
turned  to  the  "  marked  passages"  for  consolation. 


CHAPTER    XXY. 

"  BLESS  my  soul !  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  have 
been  up  here  all  this  time,  Rose  ?"  asked  John,  throw 
ing  open  the  door  of  the  attic.  "  "Why,  bless  my  soul ! 
Mrs.  Howe  told  me  that  you  were  fixed  very  comfort 
able,  and  all  that.  I  did  not  know  any  thing  about  it," 
said  the  penitent  John,  gazing  at  Charley's  pale  face. 
"This  won't  do;  you  must  go  down  stairs.  Why, 
bless  my  soul !  you  shall  go  down  stairs,"  and  before 
Rose  could  reply,  John  had  called  Patty. 

"  Look  here,"  said  John,  "  take  all  those  medicines 
and  traps  down  into  the  best  spare  chamber,  and  bring 
up  a  blanket  to  wrap  the  baby  in  ;  for  these  folks  are 
going  down  stairs." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Howe,  sir,  said  that  none  of  us  was  to 
wait  on  'em  on  no  account,  sir,  and  I — " 

"  Do  what  I  tell  you,"  said  John,  "  down  with  these 
medicines,  quick.  Why,  bless  me,"  he  muttered,  look 
ing  around,  "  no  carpet  on  the  floor,  no — why — bless 
me — »  and  the  good-natured  John  looked  from  Rose 
to  the  baby,  and  from  the  baby  to  Rose,  and  at  last 
stooped  and  gave  Charley  an  atoning  kiss. 


ROSE     CLABK.  153 

"  Had  you  not  better  let  us  stay  where  we  are  ?" 
asked  Rose,  wishing  to  avert  from  the  head  of  her^>ro 
tern,  protector  the  storm  she  knew  would  be  sure  to 
burst  upon  it.  "I  am  very  sorry  that  Charley  was 
taken  sick  here,  and  that  we  have  been  so  much  trouble 
to  you ;  very  sorry  that  I" — and  Rose's  voice  began  to 
tremble. 

"  You  need  not  be  sorry  for  any  thing  at  all,  any 
thing,"  said  the  distressed  John,  "  so,  don't  cry,  it  is  a 
burning  sha — well — never  mind ;  give  me  that  little 
fellow,  and  follow  me  down  stairs.  Why,  bless  my 
soul!  no  carpet  on  the  floor — no — I  had  no  idea 
of  it." 

"  There  now,  Patty,"  said  he,  facing  that  astonished 
damsel,  "  go  fill  that  ewer  with  fresh  water,  and  don't 
wait  for  these  folks  to  ring  to  find  out  whether  they 
want  any  thing  or  not." 

Patty  stared  at  him  as  if  she  thought  he  were  drunk 
or  dreaming. 

-s. 

"  D'  ye  hear  ?"  said  John. 

"  Y — e — s,  s — i — r,"  said  Patty,  leaving  her  mouth 
wide  open  after  this  reply,  as  though  there  were  several 
little  remarks  she  might  make,  if  she  only  dared. 

Ah,  well  might  little  Charley  open  his  wondering 
eyes  at  the  crimson  silk  bed-curtains,  looped  away 
over  his  cherub  head.  He  had  never  lain  on  so  dainty 
a  bed  of  roses  as  was  embroidered  on  that  gorgeous 
coverlet ;  and  as  Rose  sank  down  beside  him  into  one 
1* 


154  ROSE     CLARK. 

of  those  luxuriously-cushioned  chairs,  and  laid  her 
beautiful  head  back,  with  her  finely-chiseled  profile  re 
lieved  against  its  crimson  damask,  John  thought  how 
well  both  mother  and  child  became  their  new  sur 
roundings. 

Yes,  Rose's  picture  should  have  been  taken  at  that 
moment,  with  her  unbound  tresses,  and  her  little 
hands  crossed  in  her  lap  in  such  dreary  hopelessness. 
But  when  was  she  not  a  picture  ?  and  what  has  beauty 
ever  brought  its  possessor,  but  a  broken  heart  ? 

"You  will  see  the  end  of  this,"  said  Patty,  to  the 
cook,  laying  her  forefinger  mysteriously  on  the  bridge 
of  her  nose.  "  You  will  see  what 's  what,  when  Mrs. 
Howe  comes  home ;  those  folks  will  be  tramped  back 
into  the  attic  in  double  quick  time." 

"What  will  you  bet  on  that?"  said  Nancy;  "men 
get  tired  after  awhile  of  being  led  by  the  nose.  I  will 
bet  you  that  pair  of  gold  ear-rings  you  have  been 
hankering  after,  that  they  will  stay  where  they  are." 

"Done!"  exclaimed  Patty,  "and  I  will  bet  you  my 
new  silk  apron,  with  the  satin  pockets,  that  they  go 
back  in  the  attic  in  less  than  twenty-four  hours  from 
now.  Hark !  there  comes  Mrs.  Howe  home  this  min 
ute;  now  we  shall  see;"  and  Patty  set  the  kitchen 
door  wide  open,  that  no  sound  might  escape  her. 

John  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  library,  whither 
he  had  retired,  after  moving  Rose  into  the  best  spare 


ROSE     CLARK.  155 

chamber.  He  was  naturally  a  good-hearted  fellow,  but 
his  constitutional  indolence  had  made  him  a  willing 
slave  of  his  crafty,  designing  wife.  John  hated  noth 
ing  so  much  as  trouble.  Inch  after  inch  of  ground  he 
had  yielded  to  the  enemy,  rather  than  contend  for  its 
possession.  Now  that  the  excitement  of  his  late  invol 
untary  declaration  of  independence  was  over,  be  be 
gan  to  reflect  upon  the  probable  consequences,  to 
listen  nervously  for  the  door-bell ;  in  fact,  he  felt 
very  much  more  like  running  away  than  "facing  the 
music." 

He  had  done  penance  before  now,  by  drinking  mud 
dy  coffee,  eating  half-boiled  potatoes,  raw  meat,  and 
smoky  puddings.  He  had  groaned  under  three  weeks 
of  sulks,  with  which  Mrs.  Howe  had  been  afflicted,  on 
account  of  what  she  considered  his  conjugal  misde 
meanors.  He  had  missed  his  business  memorandum- 
book  for  days  together ;  been  obliged  to  go  out  the 
back  door,  instead  of  the  front ;  had  stood  on  one  leg 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  at  a  friend's  house,  whither 
he  had  escorted  Mrs.  Howe  to  a  party,  waiting  for  that 
lady  to  rejoin  him  to  enter  the  drawing-room ;  she, 
meanwhile,  reclining  composedly  in  an  arm-chair  in  the 
ladies'  dressing-room,  leisurely  enjoying  the  penance 
she  was  inflicting.  He  had  been  called  out  of  the  party 
at  an  early  hour,  to  wait  upon  her  ladyship  home, 
merely  because  he  seemed  to  be  enjoying  it ;  he  had 
slept  with  the  window  open  when  it  was  cold,  and 


156  BOSE     CLAKK. 

slept  with  it  shut  when  it  was  hot.    No  wonder  John 
felt  a  little  nervous. 

"There  it  is — there  it  is,"  said  Patty,  rubbing  her 
hands,  "  there  »s  the  bell  for  me,"  and  up  she  ran,  con 
fident  of  winning  the  coveted  gold  ear-rings. 

"Patty?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Howe's  face  was  pale  with  rage  as,  beckoning 
Patty  to  follow  her,  she  pointed  through  the  open 
door  of  the  best  chamber  at  Rose  and  the  baby,  to 
whom  she  had  not  deigned  to  speak. 

"It  was  Mr.  Howe's  doings,  ma'am.  I  told  him 
you  would  be  angry,  and  so  I  did  n't  want  to  have  no 
hand  in  it,  but  Lor',  ma'am,  he  made  me  ;  it  was  n't  no 
fault  of  mine,  because  I  know'd  it  was  agin'  your  wishes, 
and  so  I  made  bold  to  tell  him,  ma'am." 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  Take  those  messes  (pointing 
to  the  medicines)  up  into  the  attic,  and  then  come  back 
and  get  that  baby." 

Rose  clasped  Charley  closer  to  her  bosom,  for  Mrs. 
Howe's  face  was  demoniac  in  its  rage. 

"  Out  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  taking  Rose  by 
the  shoulder  and  pointing  to  the  door. 

"  Patty." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  You  see  now,"  said  that  amiable  lady,  locking  the 
door  of  the  spare  room,  and  putting  the  key  into  her 


EOSE     CLARK.  157 

pocket,  "whom  you  are  to  mind — who  is  master  in 
this  house — do  you  ?  Go  down  into  the  kitchen." 

"  There — did  n't  I  tell  you  so  ?"  asked  the  triumph 
ant  Patty  of  the  crest-fallen  cook ;  "  now  for  my  gold 
ear-rings." 

"  Not  that  you  know  of,"  said  Nancy. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?    Did  n't  you  say  that  if — " 

"  I  said,"  said  Nancy,  crossing  her  two  stubby  fore 
fingers,  "  that  I  would  bet  you  that  pair  of  gold  ear 
rings  you  wanted,  that  they  would  stay  where  they 
were;  meaning  that  the  ear-rings  would  stay  where 
they  were— in  the  jeweler's  shop." 

"  It  is  right  down  mean,"  said  the  pouting  Patty ; 
"  see  if  I  am  not  even  with  you  before  the  week  is  out." 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

POOR  Rose  sat  down  in  her  old  quarters,  with  Char 
ley  in  her  lap,  trying  to  read  in  his  pale  face  the  prob 
able  duration  of  his  sickness.  Poor  little  fellow !  he 
did  not  like  the  change.  He  missed  the  sheen  of  the 
pretty  satin  curtains,  and  the  glitter  of  their  gilded 
cornices.  They  were  something  for  baby  eyes  to  won 
der  and  look  at.  He  had  quite  exhausted  those  ugly 
attic  walls,  hung  with  the  cook's  dingy  wardrobe. 
Even  the  pretty  sunbeams  in  which  babies  love  to  see 
the  little  motes  glitter  and  float,  had  been  jealously  ex 
cluded  by  the  tyrannical  Aunt  Dolly  ;  so  poor  Charley 
had  nothing  to  do  but  roll  his  little  restless  head  from 
side  to  side,  and  whimper. 

Ah,  there  is  something  now  to  look  at !  The  door 
creaks  on  its  hinges,  and  an  old  crone,  bent  almost 
double,  her  nose  and  chin  meeting,  totters  in,  leaning 
on  a  stick.  A  striped  cotton  handkerchief  thrown  over 
her  spare  gray  locks,  and  tied  under  her  chin,  and  an 
old  shawl  over  her  cotton  gown,  complete  her  ward 
robe. 

At  any  other  time  this  little  weird  figure,  appearing 


ROSE     CLAKK.  159 

so  suddenly,  would  have  terrified  Rose ;  now  her  de 
spairing  thoughts  had  crowded  out  every  other  feeling, 
so  she  sat  quite  still  as  the  old  woman  hobbled,  mum 
bling,  toward  her. 

"  Why,  Maria !  there  now.  I  Jinew  you  were  not 
dead.  I  told  them  so,  but  they  would  not  believe 
a  word  I  said.  You  look  as  sweet  as  a  lily.  "Where 
is  your  husband,  dear?  and  little  Rose?  and  all  of 
'em,  and  every  body  ?  I  can't  find  any  body  I  want 
to  see.  I  am  so  tired  and  lonely.  Don't  you  go 
away  now,  Maria.  Did  you  buy  that  little  doll  for 
me  to  play  with  ?"  she  asked,  catching  sight  of  Char 
ley.  "  It  opens  and  shuts  its  eyes,  don't  it  dear,  just 
like  the  waxen  dolls  ?  I  like  it — chut — chut — chut," 
and  the  old  lady  touched  Charley  under  the  chin  with 
her  wrinkled  fingers.  "  Pull  the  wire  and  make  the 
doll  laugh  again,  dear,"  she  said,  looking  up  in  Rose's 
face.  "  I  would  like  it  to  play  with.  I  get  so  tired,  so 
tired.  I  stole  away  to-day ;  Dolly  did  n't  know  it. 
Do  you  know  Dolly  ?  does  Dolly  strike  you  f  What 
made  you  stay  away  such  a  long  time,  Maria  ?  Let  us 
go  to  your  house.  I  don't  like  to  be  locked  up  in 
Dolly's  house.  I  get  so  tired,  so  tired — dearie  me — 
dearie  me — where 's  little  Rose,  Maria  ?" 

Rose  did  not  answer,  for  a  light  was  struggling 
dimly  through  her  brain.  She  remembered  long 
years  ago,  when  she  first  came  to  Dolly's,  that  an  old 
woman  came  there,  not  so  bent  as  this  old  crone  was 


160  EOSE     CLARK. 

now,  but  yet  gray  haired  and  wrinkled,  and  that 
Dolly  spoke  harshly  to  her,  and  tried  to  make  her  go 
away,  and  that  the  old  lady  cried,  and  said  it  was  cold 
at  the  poor  house,  and  that  she  was  hungry,  and  then 
Dolly  said  she  would  give  her  a  small  piece  of  money, 
and  something  to  eat,  if  she  would  promise  never  to 
come  there  again ;  and  that  Dolly  sent  her  (Rose)  into 
the  kitchen  till  the  old  lady  was  gone,  but  that  she 
had  heard  all  they  said  through  the  thin  green  baize 
door. 

"Maria?  why  don't  you  speak?  where  is  little 
Rose?" 

"  Is  not  this  little  Rose  ?"  asked  Rose,  compassion 
ately,  as  she  pointed  to  Charley. 

"Sure  enough,"  said  the  pleased  old  lady;  "I 
thought  it  was  a  doll — sure  enough — why — I  shall 
find  'em  all  by  and  by,  who  knows*? — But — Maria, 
why  don't  it  grow  any  ?  it  is  just  as  little  as  it  was 
when  I  saw  it  last — where  did  I  see  it  last,  Maria  ? — 
chut — chut — chut — "  she  said,  tickling  Charley's  chin 
again.  "Maria?  you  won't  go  away  again,  will  you? 
— you  won't  strike  me,  will  you?  I'll  be  very  good. 
Can't  I  stay  here,  dear,  with  you,  and  the  little  doll, 
little  Rose?  Why  don't  it  grow  bigger,  Maria? 
Are  you  hungry?  I  am  hungry — oh,  dearie  me— 
dearie  me — " 

"Dear,  dear  grandmother,"  sobbed  Rose,  "I  love 
you." 


ROSE     CLAKK.  161 

"Love  me!  do  you!  what  for?  did  Dolly  make 
you  cry  too?  Maria,  where 's  Rose?  Maria,  what 
makes  you  call  your  mother  grandmother?  Do  you 
know  Dolly  ?  Dolly  is  down  stairs ;  I  don't  go  down 
stairs.  See  here,"  and  she  touched  her  old  faded  gown 
and  shawl,  "I  can't,  you  see,  Dolly  would  n't  like  it.  Oh ! 
dearie  me — dearie  me !  I  am  so  tired,"  and  the  old  lady 
laid  her  wrinkled  face  against  her  granddaughter's. 

"Voices!  and  in  Rose's  room!  what  new  treason 
now  ?"  and  Mrs.  Howe  applied  her  ear  to  the  key 
hole.  The  thin  gray  locks  rested  lovingly  on  Rose's 
glossy  auburn  tresses.  Rose's  arm  was  about  her 
withered  neck,  and  tears  fell  trickling  from  her  eyes. 
It  was  a  sweet  picture;  but  the  artist  might  have 
found  a  foil  to  it,  in  the  demoniac  face  outside  the  door. 

Ah!  Rose,  the  hated  Rose,  in  possession  of  her 
secret !  Her  face  grew  darker — deadlier.  But  per 
haps  she  was  not  yet  in  possession  of  it ;  not  a  mo 
ment  was  to  be  lost. 

Opening  the  door,  she  said,  coaxingly,  "Why,  Betty, 
are  you  in  here  ?  This  won't  do.  "What  will  the  doc 
tor  say  ?  You  must  go  back  to  bed,  Betty,"  and 
Dolly  fixed  her  basilisk  eyes  on  her  cowering  victim, 
who  nestled  more  closely  to  Rose. 

"  Poor  crazed  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  "  she  imag 
ines  every  body  is  going  to  hurt  her ;  by  and  by  she 
will  think  so  of  you.  She  may  kill  Charley.  T  ought 


162  HOSE     CLARK. 

to  send  her  to  the  Lunatic  Asylum ;  but  she  is  an  old 
servant  who  used  to  live  in  Mr.  Howe's  family,  and  so 
I  keep  her,  though  she  is  so  troublesome.  Come, 
Betty !» 

"  Maria !"  whispered  the  old  lady,  hoarsely,  clutching 
at  Rose's  dress — "  Maria,  tell  her  you  love  me,  Maria." 

"  I  do — I  do !"  sobbed  Rose,  unable  to  restrain  her 
self,  as  she  threw  her  arms  around  her. 

"Love  that  lunatic?  What  should  you  love  her 
for,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?"  asked  the  startled  Dolly. 

"  Because  she  is  my  grandmother — my  own  dear 
grandmother.  Oh  Aunt  Dolly  !  hate  me,  if  you  will, 
but  love  her;  she  will  not  live  long  to  trouble  any 
body,"  and  Rose  kissed  the  furrowed  temples  and 
stroked  back  the  thin  gray  locks. 

"  Well,  if  I  ever !"  said  Dolly,  looking  innocent ; 
"  I  believe  the  whole  world  is  going  mad !  Come 
along,  Betty." 

"Maria!  Maria!"  whispered  the  old  lady,  again 
nestling  up  to  Rose. 

"  There,  you  see,  she  is  quite  out ;  she  fancies  you 
are  somebody  she  has  seen  before." 

"  No — she  takes  me  for  Maria,  my  mother,"  said 
Rose  ;  "  you  say  that  I  look  like  her  exactly." 

"  Come  along,  Betty !"  said  the  infuriated  Mrs. 
Howe.  "  Mother  and  grandmother  !  you  are  both  as 
mad  as  March  hares,"  and  seizing  "  Betty"  by  the 
arm,  she  drew  her  across  the  entry  into  her  own  den, 


ROSE     CLAKK.  163 

and  turning  the  key  on  her,  put  it  in  her  pocket,  and 
went  down  into  the  dining-room. 

We  have  no  desire  to  record  her  reflections  as  she 
sat  down  to  "Moses  in  the  Bulrushes,"  upon  which  she 
had  already  expended  pounds  and  pounds  of  German 
worsted,  and  who,  if  ever  found  by  his  mother 
"Miriam,"  would  scarcely  have  been  recognized. 

John  was  in  his  arm-chair  reading  the  Daily  Bul 
letin.  He  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  late  overthrow 
of  his  domestic  authority  by  Dolly ;  not  that  it  was 
by  any  means  the  first  instance  of  the  kind,  but  the 
others  had  been  known  to  no  third  party.  He  trusted 
for  the  perpetuity  of  the  declaration  of  domestic  inde 
pendence  which  he  had  lately  set  up,  to  its  being  made 
publicly  before  the  servants.  Mistaken  man  !  Dolly's 
pride  lay  in  a  different  direction.  Well,  it  was  all 
over  now ;  he  only  wondered  in  his  cool  moments  how 
he  had  ever  been  so  mad  as  to  attempt  to  make  Rose 
more  comfortable ;  but  let  no  man  ever  say  what  he  will 
or  will  not  do  till  he  has  seen  a  pretty  woman  in  tears. 

Still,  John  had  a  rod  in  pickle  for  Dolly ;  his  pub 
licly-wounded  pride  must  have  some  satisfaction.  He 
saw  by  the  gleam  of  her  eye,  as  she  sat  down  to 
Moses,  that  she  was  that  morning  particularly  deficient 
in  his  "  meekness."  It  was  a  good  chance.  John 
cleared  his  throat,  preparatory  to  improving  it. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Howe,"  said  he,  lay- 


164  HOSE     CLARK. 

ing  down  his  newspaper,  as  if  a  sudden  thought  had 
struck  him,  "  Finels  asked  me  the  other  day  who  Rose 
was  ?» 

"  Finels !  Finels !"  screamed  Mrs.  Howe,  sticking  her 
needle  vigorously  into  Moses,  "how  came  Finels  to 
see  Rose?" 

John's  eyes  gleamed.  "  When  I  waited  upon  him 
to  the  door  the  other  day,  Rose  was  just  passing 
through  the  entry,  with  a  pitcher  of  water." 

"  Just  like  her,  and  I  told  her  expressly  to  go  down 
the  back  stairs." 

"  But  the  carpenter  was  fixing  the  back  stairs,  that 
day,"  said  John,  "  she  could  n't  pass,  I  suppose." 

"  I  don't  suppose  any  such  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Howe, 
"  she  did  it  on  purpose ;  I  know  she  did.  Well,  what 
did  Finels  say  of  her  ?" 

"  He  said  she  had  the  loveliest  eyes  he  ever  saw,  and 
that  her  face  was  without  a  flaw." 

"  What  o'clock  is  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Howe,  in  a  husky 
voice. 

"  Just  one,"  said  John,  "  Why  ?" 

"  What  time  does  the  stage  go  to  Exeter  ?" 

"  Three,  I  believe." 

"  Believe !  don't  you  know  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  goes  at  three." 

"  Well,  go  and  order  it  here  at  our  door  by  that 
time.  Rose  shall  go  back  to  old  Bond  this  very  day  ; 
I  won't  stand  it." 


ROSE     CLARK.  165 

"  Is  the  baby  well  enough  ?"  asked  John,  not  looking 
for  this  painful  termination  to  his  little  bit  of  connubial 
fun. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  it  is  or  not ;  if  you  don't  get 
that  stage,  I  will." 

"  I  '11  get  it,"  said  John,  "  but—" 

"  There 's  no  but  about  it,  I  tell  you  she  shall  go,  if 
that  child  dies  on  the  road ;  that 's  all  there  is  to  that," 
and  Mrs.  Howe  went  up  stairs  to  inform.  Rose  of  her 
determination. 

Rose  had  just  succeeded  in  lulling  the  restless  baby 
to  sleep  upon  her  bosom.  Upon  Mrs.  Howe's  violent 
bang  of  the  door  after  entering  the  room,  he  uttered  a 
loud,  frightened  cry. 

"  Stop  that  child,  will  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  "  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you." 

The  quick  blood  rushed  to  Rose's  face,  as  she  nestled 
Charley  to  her  bosom. 

"  It  is  now  one  o'clock,"  said  Mrs.  Howe,  drawing 
out  her  gold  watch,  with  its  glittering  chain  and  trin 
kets  ;  "  the  stage  will  be  at  the  door  to  take  you  to 
Exeter,  at  three  o'clock  precisely.  Do  you  under 
stand  ?"  said  she,  as  Rose  bent  an  anxious  glance  at  the 
sick  baby's  face. 

"  I  will  be  ready,"  said  Rose,  in  a  trembling  voice. 

This  mild,  acquiescent  reply  was  not  what  Mrs.  Howe 
desired;  she  would  have  preferred  something  upon 
which  to  hinge  her  pent-up  wrath. 


166  EOSE     CLARK. 

"  How  came  that  rocking-chair  up  here,  I  s'Aould  like 
to  know  ?" 

"  Betty  brought  it  up  for  old  Mrs.  Bond." 

"  Likely  story ;  and  Betty  told  you,  I  suppose,  to  pa 
rade  yourself  through  the  front  entry,  when  Mr.  Howe 
was  talking  with  a  gentleman ;  I  know  your  tricks.  I 
should  think  you  had  had  enough  of  gentlemen  to  last 
you  one  while. 

"  The  carpenter  was — " 

"Don't  talk  to  me  .about  '  carpenters  ;'  where  there 
is  a  will  there  is  a  way ;  you  might  have  waited  for  the 
water." 

"  It  was  to  miv  Charley's  medicine,"  said  Rose,  with 
brimming  eyes. 

"  I  dare  say — such  things  don't  go  down  with  me ; 
pick  up  your  things  quick  and  get  ready." 

Rose  attempted  to  lay  Charley  down  on  the  bed, 
but  he  began  to  cry  most  piteously. 

"There  is  no  need  of  your  stopping  for  him  now ;  he 
might  as  well  cry  for  one  thing  as  another  ;  he  is  always 
crying,  I  am  sick  to  death  of  hearing  him ;  he  is  per 
fectly  spoiled." 

"  He  is  sick,"  said  Rose,  stooping  to  kiss  Charley  as 
if  he  could  be  pained  by  Mrs.  Howe's  heartlessness. 

"  "Well — any  how,  I  am  sick  of  both  of  you ;  so  hur 
ry,  and  don't  think  you  are  going  to  stay,  because  it 
is  beginning  to  sprinkle,"  said  she,  drawing  carefully 
aside  one  corner  of  the  cook's  petticoat  as  she  peered 


ROSE     CLAEK.  167 

oat  the  window — "  come,  make  haste  now,"  and  Aunt 
Dolly  swept  down  stairs. 

Poor  afflicted  Mrs.  Howe !  Flynn  had  robbed  the 
pelerine  and  bracelet  of  their  power  to  charm,  and  the 
"marked  passages"  no  longer  gave  her  consolation, 
for  Finels  had  admired  Rose's  eyes.  Consuelo,  too, 
lies  wheezing  in  his  embroidered  blanket ;  dear  little 
Consuelo !  it  could  not  be  that  lie  was  going  to  be 
sick !  And  Mrs.  Howe  takes  him  up  gently,  strokes 
his  long  silken  ears,  looks  into  his  eyes,  and  offers  him 
some  food,  which  the  pampered  little  cur  refuses. 

A  scrambling  in  the  blanket ! 

Consuelo  is  in  a  fit ! 

So  is  his  mistress. 

"O,  John,  for  heaven's  sake,  run  for  Thomas,  he 
knows  all  about  dogs.  Supposing  he  should  die  ?  O 
dear — make  haste  ;  my  darling,  my  darling !"  and  Mrs. 
Howe  ran  up  stairs,  and  ran  down  stairs,  ran  for  water, 
and  ran  for  physic,  opened  the  windows,  and  shut 
them,  pulled  round  Betty,  and  Sally,  and  Bridget,  and 
threatened  the  whole  crew,  unless  they  helped  Con 
suelo,  to  turn  them  all  out  of  doors.  And  then 
Thomas  came,  and  manipulated  Consuelo  as  only  his 
humbug-ship  knew  how,  and  restored  the  convalescent 
jewel  to  its  mistress,  who  wept  with  delight,  and 
crossed  his  palm  with  a  five-dollar  gold  piece',  and  then 
Thomas  retired,  calling  down  blessings  on  all  over-fed 
puppies  in  particular,  and  credulous  womrjn  in  general. 


168  HOSE     CLAKK. 

And  Rose ! 

She  crept  down  stairs  as  well  as  her  tears  would 
let  her,  stopping  to  kneel  before  the  door  through 
which  the  wailing  "  dearie  me — dearie  me,"  was  issu 
ing. 

Wrapping  Charley  in  the  only  shawl  she  owned,  to 
defend  him  from  the  falling  rain,  she  clambered  un 
assisted,  up  into  the  stage.  The  passengers  growled 
when  they  saw  the  baby ;  the  rain  spattered  on  the 
roof,  and  windows,  and  the  coachman  slamming  to  the 
door  with  an  oath,  cracked  his  whip,  and  the  stage 
rolled  away. 

What  pen  can  do  justice  to  the  atmosphere  of  a 
stage,  omnibus,  or  railroad  car,  of  a  rainy  day  ? 

The  fumes  of  alternate  whisky  and  onions,  the  steam 
ing,  cigar-odored  coats,  the  dirty  straw  soaking  under 
foot,  a  deluge  if  you  open  the  window,  poison  by 
inhalation  if  you  do  not.  Charley  became  more  and 
more  restless,  while  Rose  grew  still  paler,  and  the  drops 
stood  on  her  forehead,  in  dread  of  his  prolonged  cry. 

"  I  think  he  will  be  good  with  me ;  let  me  take  him, 
please,"  pleaded  a  sweet  voice  at  her  side. 

Rose  turned,  and  saw  a  lady  dressed  in  black,  whom 
she  had  not  before  noticed,  extending  her  arms  for 
Charley.  Her  face  was  sufficient  to  win  confidence, 
and  Rose  accepted  her  offer.  Handling  him  as  only 
an  experienced  hand  can  handle  a  babe,  she  changed 
him  with  perfect  ease  from  side  to  side,  laid  him  now 


ROSE     CLARK.  169 

up  on  her  shoulder,  now  down  on  her  lap,  without  the 
slightest  appearance  of  discomfort  to  herself. 

Rose  looked  the  thanks  she  could  not  speak ;  then, 
stupified  with  exhaustion  and  sorrow,  she  leaned  back 
in  the  dark  corner  where  she  sat,  and  closed  her  eyes. 

The  lady  made  no  attempt  to  draw  her  into  conver 
sation,  but  gazed  lovingly  upon  Charley's  face.  Liv 
ing  sorrows,  she  had  none ;  but  on  a  little  tombstone  in 
a  church  yard  far  away,  the  stranger's  foot  paused  as 

he  read : 

"OUR  FRANK!" 

Oh,  how  many  visions  of  home  joys  and  home  sor 
rows,  did  those  two  little  words  call  up ! 

Our  Frank!  More  than  one  heart  had  bled  when 
that  little  tombstone  was  reared,  and  though  the  hands 
which  placed  it  there  were  far  away,  yet  the  little 
grave  had  ever  its  garland,  or  its  wreath,  for  even 
stranger  eyes  involuntarily  dropped  tears,  when  they 

read, 

"OUR  FRANK." 

And  so  Frank's  mother  sat  gazing  on  Charley's  little 
cherub  face,  and  wondering  what  grief  a  mother  could 
know,  with  her  breathing  babe  beside  her. 

Pity  us,  oh  God !  for  every  heart  knoweth  its  own 
bitterness,  and  a  stranger  intermeddleth  not  therewith. 

8 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

"  WHAT  is  that  ?"  exclaimed  old  Mrs.  Bond,  as  she 
saw  the  stage,  dimly,  through  the  pelting  rain,  plow 
ing  through  the  clayey  mud,  up  the  steep  hill  toward 
her  door.  Somebody  must  be  coming  here,  else  the 
driver  would  have  taken  the  easier  cut  to  the  village," 
and  she  pressed  her  face  closer  against  the  moist  win 
dow-pane  to  get  a  clearer  view. 

"  It  is  going  to  stop  here,  sure  as  the  world,"  she  ex 
claimed.  "Who  can  be  coming  a  visiting  in  such  a 
rain  as  this  ?  It  is  not  time  for  old  Cousin  Patty,  these 
three  months  yet." 

"  Dear  heart,"  she  said,  as  the  driver  jumped  off  his 
box,  and  opened  the  stage-door,  "  if  it  is  n't  Rose,  and 
that  sick  baby!  Dear  heart — dear  heart,  it  is  as  much 
as  its  life  is  worth.  I  hope  I  shall  have  grace  to  for 
give  that  woman,  but  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know;  who 
could  have  believed  it  ?"  and  by  this  time,  the  baby 
was  handed  into  her  outstretched  arms,  and  Rose 
stepped  dripping  across  the  threshold. 

"  Cry,  dear — do  cry.  I  am  going  to  cry  myself.  It 
is  dreadful  hard."  And  she  drew  the  chairs  up  to  the 
fire,  and  gazed  by  its  light  into  Rose's  brimming  eyes 
and  Charley's  pale  face. 


ROSE     CLARK.  171 

"  May  God  forgive  her,"  she  said,  at  last ;  "  can't 
you  say  it,  dear  ?  Try." 

Rose  answered  by  pointing  to  Charley. 

"  I  know  it,  dear  heart ;  I  know  it ;  but  you  remem 
ber  the  '  crown  of  thorns,'  and  the  mocking  '  sponge,' 
and  the  cruel  '  spear,'  "  said  the  old  lady,  struggling 
down  her  own  incensed  feelings. 

"  Take  Charley  now,  dear,  he  is  quite  warm,  while  I 
run  and  make  you  a  cup  of  hot  tea,"  and  the  old  lady 
piled  fresh  wood  upon  the  huge  andirons,  and  drew  out 
her  little  tea-table,  stopping  now  to  wipe  her  eyes,  now 
to  kiss  Rose  and  the  baby,  and  whispering,  "  Try,  dear, 
do  ;  it  will  make  you  feel  happier ;  try." 

The  cheerful  warmth  of  the  fire,  and  Mrs.  Bond's 
motherly  kindness,  brought  a  little  color  into  Rose's 
pale  face,  and  Charley  kicked  his  little  cold  toes  out 
of  his  frock,  and  winked  his  eyes  at  the  crackling  blaze, 
as  if  to  say, 

"  ISTow,  this  is  something  like." 

After  tea,  Rose  narrated  to  Mrs.  Bond  the  visit  of 
the  old  crone  to  her  attic,  and  expressed  her  firm  be 
lief  that  she  was  Dolly's  mother. 

This  was  even  worse  in  Mrs.  Bond's  eyes  than  Mrs. 
Howe's  cruelty  to  Rose,  and  not  trusting  herself  to 
speak,  she  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  by  alternately 
raising  her  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  There  will  be  a  sad  reckoning-day — a  sad  reckon 
ing-day,  dear,"  said  the  old  lady  solemnly.  "  He  that 
keepeth  Israel  shall  neither  slumber  nor  sleep." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

IT  was  Monday  morning.  Mrs.  Bond's  little  kitchen 
was  full  of  the  steam  of  boiling  clothes.  Little  Charley, 
with  one  of  Mrs.  Bond's  long  calico  aprons  pinned  over 
his  frock,  was  pursuing  on  all  fours  his  infantile  invest 
igations. 

On  the  bench  before  the  door  stood  two  wash-tubs, 
at  one  of  which  stood  a  strapping  Irish  girl  with  red 
arms  and  petticoats,  scrubbing  the  plowman's  clothes 
with  superhuman  energy.  At  the  other  stood  Rose, 
her  curls  knotted  up  on  the  back  of  her  head,  her 
sleeves  rolled  up  above  her  round,  white  elbows,  and 
her  calico  skirt  pinned  away  from  one  of  the  prettiest 
ankles  in  the  world ;  even  this  homespun  attire  could 
not  disguise  her  beauty. 

Three  hours,  by  the  old-fashioned  clock  in  the  coi 
ner,  she  had  stood  there  ;  and  yet,  though  she  had  rub 
bed  the  skin  from  her  little  hands,  the  pile  of  clothes 
before  her  seemed  scarcely  to  have  diminished,  owing 
partly  to  her  unsHUfuhiess,  and  partly  that  she  was  ob 
liged  to  leave  off  every  few  minutes  to  extricate  Char- 


EOSE     CLAEK.  173 

ley  from  some  scrape  with  the  shovel,  tongs,  or  poker, 
or  to  barricade  some  door  through  which  he  seemed 
quite  determined  to  go ;  added  to  this,  her  heart  was 
very  heavy,  and  one's  fingers  are  apt  to  keep  time  with 
the  heart  pulses. 

Oh,  where  was  Vincent  ?  Would  he  never  return, 
as  he  had  promised?  Was  he  still  "at  his  father's 
dying  bed?"  How  strange  she  did  not  hear  from 
him.  How  strange  he  had  not  told  her  where  he 
was.  He  loved  her  ?  Oh,  yes — "  more  than  ah1  the 
world  beside."  Had  he  not  told  her  so  ?  He  could 
not  have  deserted  her  ?  Oh — no — no — and  yet,  poor 
Rose,  there  was  such  a  weary  pain  at  her  heart ;  but 
see,  there  is  Charley  again,  little  mischief,  between  the 
andirons.  Rose  wipes  the  suds  from  her  hands,  and 
runs  to  extricate  him  for  the  twentieth  time.  She  pats 
him  petulantly ;  the  boy  does  not  cry,  but  he  looks  up 
at  her  with  his  father's  eyes.  Rose  kisses  those  eyes ; 
she  dashes  away  her  tears,  and  goes  back  again  to  her 
work.  She  tries  to  believe  it  will  be  all  right.  Mrs. 
Bond  comes  in  to  make  the  pudding  for  dinner.  She 
sees  how  little  progress  Rose  is  making,  and  though 
Rose  does  her  best  to  hide  them,  she  sees  the  tell-tale 
tears,  trembling  on  her  long  eyelashes. 

Mrs.  Bond  has  the  best  heart  in  the  world;  she  never 
treads  on  the  little  ant-houses  in  the  gravel  walks,  she 
says  the  robins  have  earned  a  right  to  the  cherries 
by  keeping  the  insects  from  the  trees,  she  has  turned 


174  ROSE     CLAEK. 

veterinary  surgeon  to  keep  the  breath  of  life  in  an  old 
skeleton  of  a  horse  which  Zedekiah  "  vowed  oughter 
been  shot  long  ago,"  she  puts  crumbs  on  the  piazza  for 
the  ground  birds,  and  is  very  careful  to  provide  for  the 
motherly  yellow  cat  a  soft  bed.  The  peddler  always  is 
sure  of  a  warm  cup  of  tea,  and  the  wooden-ware  man 
of  a  bit  of  cheese  or  pie.  Rose's  tears  make  her  quite 
miserable,  so  she  says  to  Bridget,  in  her  soft  kind  way, 
"I  should  think  you  might  help  wash  the  baby's 
clothes,  Bridget." 

"  JSTot  for  the  likes  of  her,"  retorted  the  vixen,  with 
her  red  arms  a-kimbo.  "  Thank  the  Virgin,  I  am  an 
honest  woman." 

Rose  snatched  Charley  from  the  floor  and  darted 
through  the  open  door,  with  the  fleetness  of  a  deer ; 
not  weary  now ;  strong  to  bear  any  thing,  every  thing 
but  that  coarse,  cruel  taunt.  Away ! — away  from  it ! 
but  where?  Oh,  Vincent,  will  it  always  follow! 
Strong,  is  she?  Poor  Rose!  She  falls  earthward 
with  her  tender  burden.  Charley  utters  a  cry  of 
pain  as  his  temples  strike  a  sharp  stone.  Rose  heeds 
not  his  cry,  for  she  is  insensible. 

When  her  consciousness  returns,  some  two  hours 
after,  she  finds  herself  in  her  own  little  bed,  with  Mrs. 
Bond  beside  her.  There  are  phials  upon  the  table, 
and  a  strong  smell  of  camphor ;  a  bandage  is  around 
her  forehead,  and  the  blinds  are  closed,  and  Charley  is 


ROSE     CLAEK. 


not  there,  but  she  hears  him  crowing  below  stairs. 
Mrs.  Bond  puts  her  finger  on  her  lip,  and  says,  "  Try 
to  sleep,  dear,"  and  Rose  gladly  closes  her  eyes  ;  she 
only  wishes  it  were  forever. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

"  Six  rows  of  the  ruffling,  edged  with  lace,  and  two 
tucks  between  each  ruffle.  Mind  you  don't  make  a 
mistake,  now ;  had  you  not  better  write  it  down  ? 
You  will  remember  to  make  the  upper  tuck  about  a 
fifth  of  an  inch  narrower  than  the  others.  Do  it  very 
nicely,  you  know  I  am  particular  about  my  work. 
Remember — let  me  have  it,  without  fail,  by  next 
Thursday  evening,"  and  the  speaker  gathered  her  vo 
luminous  skirts  hi  her  hand  and  tripped  through  the 
door  and  into  her  carriage. 

"  For  good  gracious'  sake,  who 's  that  ?"  asked  Miss 
Snecker. 

"  Yes — who 's  that  ?  Every  body  who  sees  her  fine 
airs  and  gay  dresses,  asks  me  that  question.  I  suppose 
you  would  n't  believe  if  I  should  tell  you  what  cater 
pillar  that  butterfly  came  from ;"  and  Miss  Bodkin  put 
her  feet  upon  the  cricket,  and  took  up  the  intermina 
ble  yards  of  ruffling  and  commenced  her  work  and 
her  history. 

"  Well — that 's  Mrs.  Howe,  and  how  she  ever  became 
Howe,  is  more  of  a  mystery  to  other  people  than  it  is 


ROSE     CLARK.  177 

to  me. — 'Mrs.  John  Howe' — a  very  well  sounding 
name  you  see,  but  for  all  that  it  never  can  make  a  lady 
of  her.  'Mrs.  John  Howe.'  It  used  to  be  'Dolly 
Smith ;'  it  was  *  Dolly  Smith'  much  longer  than  its 
owner  liked.  It  was  painted  in  large,  green  letters 
over  a  little  milliner's  shop  in  Difftown.  Such  a  fidget 
as  it  was  in  to  get  its  name  changed;  but  nobody 
seemed  to  want  it.  It  tried  the  minister,  it  tried  the 
deacon,  it  tried  the  poor,  bony  old  sexton  (mercy 
knows  it  never  would  have  taken  so  much  pains,  had  it 
known  as  much  about  men  as  I  do),  however,  that's 
neither  here  nor  there.  It  was  a  way  it  had.  Well — 
by  and  by  a  shoe-maker  from  the  city  came  up  to  our 
village  for  three  weeks'  fishing,  and  while  he  was  bait 
ing  for  fish,  Dolly  baited  for  him.  She  used  to  stand 
at  the  door  of  an  evening,  when  he  came  up  the  vil 
lage  street,  with  his  fishing  tackle  and  basket ;  by  and 
by  he  got  to  stopping  a  bit,  to  rest,  and  to  buy  a 
watch-ribbon  and  one  thing  and  another,  as  a  man  nat 
urally  would,  where  he  was  sure  of  a  welcome.  Well, 
one  evening  when  he  came,  Dolly  was  seized  with  a 
horrid  cramp — I  never  had  no  faith  in  that  cramp — 
such  a  fuss  as  she  made.  Well,  John  said  he  might  be 
in  the  way,  and  so  he  would  leave,  till  she  was  better. 
Simpleton !  That  was  just  what  she  did  n't  want  him 
to  do.  Well,  every  body  else  round  was  sent  flying 
for  '  doctors  and  medicines,'  and  John  staid  through 
that  cramp ;  and  the  next  thing  I  heard,  the  bonnets 
8* 


178  ROSE     CLARK. 

was  took  down  out  of  the  shop,  it  was  shut  up,  and 
that 's  the  way  Dolly  Smith  became  Mrs.  John  Howe. 
Of  course  it  don't  set  very  well  on  me  to  have  her  come 
in  here  with  her  patronizing  airs,  to  bring  me  her 
work  to  do  ;  but  a  body  must  pocket  their  pride  such 
hard  times  as  these.  I  shall  nurse  my  wrath,  any 
way,  till  I  get  a  little  richer." 

"Well,  I  never!"  exclaimed  Miss  Snecker,  "how 
artful  some  women  is !  I  suppose  now  she  has  every 
thing  she  wants,  and  has  a  beautiful  time — the  hateful 
creature." 

"  Yes,  she  is  rich  enough,"  said  Miss  Bodkin,  "  her 
husband  gave  up  the  shoe  business  long  ago.  She 
is  as  stingy  as  she  is  rich ;  she  beats  me  down  to  the 
lowest  possible  price  for  every  stitch  I  do  for  her. 

"  She  was  dreadful  mortified  about  her  niece  Rose  ; 
suppose  you  know  all  about  that  ?  No  !  Well,  Dolly 
took  her  when  she  was  a  little  thing  to  bring  up,  as 
she  said  (the  child  was  an  orphan),  and  a  poor  sorry 
little  drudge  she  made  of  her.  She  did  n't  have  no 
childhood  at  all.  She  had  a  great  faculty  for  reading, 
and  wanted  to  devour  every  book  she  could  get,  which 
wasn't  many,  you  may  be  sure,  where  Dolly  was 
round.  The  child  had  no  peace  of  her  life,  day  nor 
night ;  was  worried  and  hunted  round  like  a  wild 
beast. 

"After  Dolly  married,  she  sent  Rose  away  to 
school,  making  a  great  talk  about  her  { generosity  in 


BOSE    CLARK.  179 

giving  her  an  eddication,'  but  the  fact  was,  that  Mr. 
Howe  was  younger  than  Dolly,  and  Rose  was  hand« 
some  :  you  see  where  the  shoe  pinched,"  said  Miss 
Bodkin,  giving  Miss  Snecker  a  nudge  in  the  ribs.  ^ . 

"  Certain,"  said  Miss  Snecker ;  "  well,  what  became 
of  the  girl  ?» 

"  Well,  Rose  was  handsome,  as  I  told  you,  though 
she  did  n't  know  it,  and  good  as  she  was  handsome ; 
but  sad-like,  for  she  never  had  any  body  to  love  her. 
I  don't  think  she  was  sorry  to  leave  her  aunt,  but  still 
you  know  the  world  is  a  great  wide  cold  place  to 
push  a  young  thing  like  that  out  into.  However,  she 
started  off  with  her  little  trunk  to  Mrs.  Graw*s 
school. 

"Mrs.  Graw  used  to  be  chambermaid  to  a  real  Count's 
wife,  and  as  soon  as  she  found  out  that  Rose  was  a 
poor  relation,  she  kinder  trod  her  down,  and  the 
school-girls  disliked  her,  because  she  was  handsomer 
than  they,  and  so  she  was  miserable  enough,  till  she 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Captain  Vincent,  who  took 
her  away  from  school,  to  be  married,  as  he  said,  and 
then  ran  off  and  left  her.  Of  course,  her  aunt  was 
dreadful  hard  on  her,  and  drove  her  almost  crazy  with 
her  reproaches.  She  would  n't  believe  any  thing  she 
said  about  her  being  really  married ;  and  was  just  as 
bitter  as  if  she  herself  had  n't  been  man-hunting  all 
her  life. 

"  She  held  Rose  off  at  arm's  length,  as  if  the  poor 


180  EOSE     CLARK. 

betrayed  child's  touch  were  poison ;  shut  her  doors  in 
her  face,  and  all  that ;  and  why  the  poor  thing  did  n't 
take  to  bad  ways  nobody  knows.  She  went  to  a 
Lying-in  Hospital,  and  staid  there  till  the  babe  was 
born,  and  then  there  was  a  great  noise,  when  it  was 
found  out  how  rich  her  aunt  was;  and  when  Mrs. 
Howe  found  out  that  people's  tongues  were  wagging 
about  it,  she  came  forward  and  offered  to  pay  her 
board  in  the  country  awhile. 

"  Mrs.  Howe  herself  lives  up  in  St.  John's  Square. 
She  is  trying  to  ride  into  fashionable  society  with  her 
carriage  and  liveried  servants ;  and  that  poor  girl  so 
heart-broken. 

"  Well,  the  Lord  only  knows  what  is  going  to  be 
come  of  poor  Rose !  Beauty  and  misery — beauty  and 
misery — I  've  seen  what  came  of  that  partnership  be 
fore  now." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

MRS.  BOND  had  drank  her  cup  of  tea  and  eaten  her 
one  slice  of  toast.  Rose  had  not  yet  come  down  to 
breakfast,  and  she  hesitated  to  disturb  her  slumbers. 
So  she  put  the  tea-pot  down  by  the  fire,  covered  over 
the  toast,  and  sat  back  in  her  great  leathern  chair. 

How  beautiful  they  looked,  Rose  and  the  boy,  the 
night  before,  when  she  crept  in,  shading  her  lamp  with 
her  hand,  to  see  if  they  were  comfortable.  The  boy's 
rosy  cheek  lay  close  to  his  mother's  blue-veined  breast, 
and  one  of  his  little  dimpled  arms  was  thrown  carelessly 
about  her  neck.  Rose  with  her  long  hair  unbound  vail 
ing  her  neck  and  shoulders,  the  tears  still  glistening  on 
her  long  lashes,  heaving  now  and  then  a  sigh  that  it 
was  pitiful  to  hear. 

"Ah!"  thought  Mrs.  Bond,  "the  father  of  the  child 
should  have  looked  in  upon  that  scene  !  Those  sighs, 
those  tears,  went  they  not  up  to  heaven  as  swift  wit 
nesses  against  him  ?" 

And  so  Mrs.  Bond,  the  previous  night,  extinguished 
her  smail  lamp,  and  knelt  by  the  bed-side ;  she  prayed 
for  those  wronged  sleepers  from  the  gushing  fullness  of 


182  ROSE     CLARK. 

her  Christian  motherly  heart.  Poor  children! — for 
what  was  Rose  but  a  child  ? 

And  now  Mrs.  Bond  sat  there  over  her  breakfast- 
table  thinking  it  all  over.  Her  own  life  had  been  as 
placid  as  the  little  lake  you  could  see  from  the  cottage 
door ;  it  was  pitiful  to  her  the  storm  of  sorrow  beating 
down  upon  that  fair  young  head.  She  tried  to  see 
something  bright  in  her  future.  She  knew  that  though 
she  herself  had  no  wish  beyond  those  humble  walls, 
save  to  lie  in  the  pleasant  church-yard  when  her  work 
was  done,  yet  that  life  must  be  monotonous  and  dull 
there  for  one  like  Rose.  She  knew  that  the  heart, 
when  wretched  and  inactive,  must  prey  upon  itself. 
She  wished  she  knew  how  to  interest  Rose  in  some 
thing.  There  was  Charley,  to  be  sure,  dear  little  fel 
low,  but  he  was  at  once  a  pain  and  a  pleasure — a  com 
fort  and  a  reproach.  Poor  little  lamb !  he  did  not  know 
why  the  caress  he  proffered  was  at  one  time  so  joy 
fully  welcomed,  then  again  repulsed  with  coldness  ;  he 
did  not  know  how  cruelly  the  poor  heart  against  which 
he  nestled  was  rent  with  alternate  hopes  and  fears  ;  he 
did  not  know  why  he  involuntarily  hid  his  head  from 
the  strange,  cold  look,  in  those  sometime — loving  eyes. 

Mrs.  Bond  sat  a  long  time  thinking  of  all  this  ;  yes, 
very  long,  for  an  hour  and  a  half  was  a  great  while  for 
her  to  sit  still  of  a  morning.  She  thought  she  might  as 
well  creep  up  softly,  and  see  if  Rose  were  waking. 
She  knocks  gently — no  answer ;  they  still  sleep,  she 


ROSE     CLARK.  183 

must  waken  them.  She  opens  the  door — there  is  no 
one  there  but  herself;  the  clothes  have  all  gone  from 
their  pegs,  and  a  note  lies  upon  the  table. 

Mrs.  Bond  takes  her  spectacles  from  their  leathern 
case,  and  her  hand  trembles  as  she  breaks  the  seal. 
It  is  in  a  delicate,  beautiful  hand.  Her  dim  eyes 
can  scarce  see  the  small  letters;  her  hand  trembles 
too,  for  an  indefinable  fear  has  taken  possession  of  her. 

The  letter  ran  thus : — 

"  MOTHER, — 

"For  so  I  will  call  you  always,  even  though  I 
am  going  to  leave  you.  You  thought  I  was  sleep 
ing  when  you  knelt  by  my  bed-side  last  night,  and 
prayed  for  Charley  and  me.  Every  word  I  heard  dis 
tinctly — every  word  was  balm  to  my  heart,  and  yet  I 
leave  you. 

Oh !  do  not  ask  me  why — I  love  him,  the  father  of 
my  child — it  is  life  where  he  is,  it  is  death  where  he  is 
not.  I  go  to  seek  him,  the  wide  earth  over.  What 
else  is  left  me,  when  my  heart  wearies  even  of  your 
kindness,  wearies  of  poor  Charley?  Mother !  pray  for 

"  Your  ROSE." 

Mrs.  Bond  did  "  pray,"  long  and  earnestly ;  she  shed 
reproachful  tears,  too — good,  motherly  Mrs.  Bond,  that 
she  had  not  done  impossibilities.  Would  that  none  of 
us  more  needed  forgiveness. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  setting  sun  streamed  in  upon  a  parlor  on  St. 
John's  Square.  One  might  have  mistaken  it  for  an  up 
holsterer's  ware-room,  so  loaded  was  it  with  chairs, 
sofas,  and  tete-a-tetes,  of  every  conceivable  size  and 
pattern.  The  same  taste  had  hung  the  walls  with  pic 
tures,  whose  coloring,  perspectives,  and  foreshortening 
would  have  driven  a  true  artist  mad ;  the  gaudy  frames, 
with  their  elaborate  gildings,  being  the  magnet  which 
had  drawn  the  money  from  the  pocket  of  the  lady  hostess. 

Distorted  mythology,  in  various  forms,  looked  down 
from  little  gilt  roosts  in  the  corners,  peeped  at  you  from 
under  tables,  stared  at  you  from  out  niches.  Books 
there  were,  whose  principal  merit  was  their  "  pretty 
binding,"  the  exception  to  this  being  in  the  shape  of  a 
large  Family  Bible,  splendidly  bound,  and  on  the  pres 
ent  occasion  ostentatiously  placed  on  the  center-table, 
for  Mrs.  Howe  had  at  last  a  baby,  and  this  was  christ 
ening-day. 

Mrs.  Howe  had  an  idea  that  it  was  more  exclusive 
and  genteel  to  have  this  little  ceremony  performed  in 
the  house.  There  was  to  be  a  splendid  christening — 


EOSE     CLAEK.  185 

cake  and  wine,  after  the  baptism,  and  only  the  appre 
ciative  select  were  to  be  present. 

Mrs.  Howe  had  expended  a  small  fortune  on  the 
baby's  christening-cap  and  robe,  not  to  speak  of  her 
own  dress,  which  she  considered,  coiffure  and  tournure, 
to  be  unsurpassable ;  and  now  she  was  flying  in  and 
out,  with  that  vulgar  fussiness  so  common  to  your 
would-be-fine-lady ;  giving  orders,  and  countermanding 
them  in  the  same  breath,  screaming  up  stairs  and 
down  to  the  servants ;  at  one  moment  foolishly  famil 
iar  with  them,  and  at  the  next  reprehensibly  severe ; 
pulling  the  furniture  this  way  and  that,  and  making  her 
servants  as  much  trouble,  and  herself  as  red  in  the  face 
as  possible.  "  Dolly  Smith,"  was  too  much  for  "  Mrs. 
John  Howe."  St.  John's  Square  had  an  odor  of  the 
milliner's  shop. 

The  baby  slept  as  quietly  as  if  it  were  not  the  hero 
ine  of  the  day ;  as  if  all  the  novels,  and  poems,  and 
newspaper  stories  had  not  been  ransacked  for  fitting 
appellations ;  as  if  its  mother  had  not  nudged  its  father 
in  the  ribs  for  fourteen  consecutive  nights,  to  know  if 
"  he  had  thought  of  any  thing." 

Mr.  John  Howe !  who  had  married  on  purpose  to 
get  rid  of  thinking ;  who  had  no  more  sentiment  than 
a  stove  funnel ;  who  would  not  have  cared  had  his  baby 
been  named  Zerubbabel  or  Kerenhappuch ;  who  was 
contented  to  let  the  world  wag  on  in  its  own  fashion, 
provided  it  did  not  meddle  with  his  "  pipe."  . 


186  ROSE     CLARK. 

Yes,  Mr.  Howe  smoked  "  a  pipe."  Mrs.  Howe  got 
up  several  hysteric  fits  about  it,  but  on  that  point  only 
he  was  immovable,  spite  of  smelling-salts  and  burned 
feathers.  Finally,  Mrs.  Howe  made  up  her  mind  to 
remove  the  odium  by  artistifying  it,  and  with  the 
sweetest  conjugal  smile  presented  him  with  an  ex 
pensive  chibouk,  to  take  the  place  of  that  leveling 
clay  pipe.  She  also  added  a  crimson  velvet  smoking- 
cap,  in  which  she  declared  he  looked  "  as  Oriental  as 
a  dervish." 

"  Thunder !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Howe,  as  he  caught  sight 
of  himself  in  a  glass,  "  you  have  made  me  look  like 
that  foreign  fool  of  a  conjuror  we  went  to  see  the  other 
evening,  who  turned  eggs  into  watches.  You  don't 
expect  me  to  wear  this  gimcrack  ?" 

Mrs.  Howe  whispered  something  in  Mr.  Howe's  ear. 
Whatever  it  was,  the  effect  was  electrifying.  Hus 
band's  have  their  weak  points  like  other  mortals.  The 
smoking-cap  was  received  into  favor — so  was  the  chi 
bouk. 

In  default  of  any  preference  of  Mr.  Howe's  for  the 
baby's  name,  Mrs.  Howe  had  selected  "  Fenella  Fatima 
Cecilia."  It  was  written  on  a  card,  all  ready  for  the 
Reverend  Doctor  Knott,  who  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  a  little  deaf,  laid  by  the  side  of  the  gilt  Bible,  and 
held  down  to  the  table  by  an  alabaster  hand,  with  a 
real  diamond  ring  on  the  third  finger. 


ROSE     CLARK.  187 

The  baptismal  basin  was  of  silver,  with  two  doves 
perched  on  the  edges.  The  water  to  be  used  on  the 
occasion,  said  to  have  come  from  the  river  Jordan,  was 
in  a  state  of  preparedness  in  a  corked  bottle  in  the 
china  closet. 

All  the  preparations  were  completed,  but  still  the 
baby  slept  on.  Mrs.  Howe  was  rather  glad  than  other 
wise,  partly  because  it  gave  her  plenty  of  time  to  sur 
vey  her  new  apparel  in  a  full-length  mirror,  partly  be 
cause  the  baby  always  had  "  such  a  pretty  color  in  its 
cheeks  when  it  first  'woke,"  and  she  wanted  to  carry 
it  in  when  the  flush  was  on. 

The  last  pin  was  adjusted  in  the  maternal  head 
dress  ;  the  Reverend  Dr.  Knott  had  arrived,  so  had 
the  appreciative  select ;  Mr.  Howe's  cravat  and  waist 
coat  had  been  duly  jerked  into  place  by  his  wife,  and 
now  the  baby  "really  must  be  woke."  Mrs.  Howe 
sprinkles  a  little  jockey-club  on  Mr.  Howe's  handker 
chief,  takes  one  last  lingering  look  in  the  mirror,  re 
adjusts  a  stray  ribbon,  changes  the  latitude  of  a  gold 
head  pin,  then  steps  up  to  the  rose-wood  cradle,  and 
draws  aside  the  lace  curtains. 

What  a  pity !  There  is  no  flush  on  the  babe's  face ! 
and  how  very  pale  she  looks  !  Mrs.  Howe  takes  hold 
of  the  plump  little  waxen  hand  that  lies  out  upon  the 
coverlid.  What  is  there  in  the  touch  of  her  own  flesh 
and  blood  to  blanch  her  lip  and  palsy  her  tongue  ? 


188  ROSE     CLARK. 

Ah !  she  can  not  face  death,  who  could  gaze  with 
stony  eyes  on  misery  worse  than  death  ? 

"Vengeance  is  mine— I  will  repay,  saith  the 
Lord." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"  A  STIFF  breeze,  captain ;  we  shall  soon  be  in  New 
Orleans  at  this  rate.  Talk  about  yellow  fever ;  it  can 
not  be  worse  than  sea-sickness.  If  a  good  appetite 
does  not  come  to  my  rescue,  on  reaching  land  I  shall 
pass  for  a  live  skeleton. 

"But,  captain,  who  is  this  pretty  stewardess  you 
have  on  board  ?  and  you  a  family-man,  too ;  eh,  cap 
tain?  And  what  child  is  that  she  has  the  care  of? 
And  what  the  deuce  ails  her? — so  young  and  so  sedate, 
so  pretty  and  so  uncome-atable !  I  don't  understand 
it." 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  necessary  you  should,"  said 
the  old  captain,  dryly. 

"  That 's  true  enough ;  and  if  she  were  homely,  she 
might  sigh  her  soul  out  before  my  curiosity  would  be 
piqued;  but  a  pretty  woman  in  trouble  is  another 
thing,  you  know.  I  feel  an  immense  desire  to  raise 
a  smile  on  that  pretty  face,  though  it  could  hardly 
look  more  enchanting  under  any  circumstances." 

"  Look  here,  Fritz,"  said  the  captain ;  "  while  that 
young  creature  is  aboard  my  ship,  she  is  under  my 


190  ROSE     CLAKK. 

protection.  Understand  ?  Not  that  any  of  your  cox- 
combical  nonsense  could  make  any  impression  on  her, 
for  her  heart  is  heavy  with  sorrow  of  some  kind,  but  I 
won't  have  her  annoyed  or  insulted.  I  don't  know  her 
history  myself,  nor  shall  I  ask  to  know ;  her  post  as 
stewardess  is  a  mere  sinecure,  though  she  does  not 
know  it. 

"  She  came  to  me  with  that  child  in  her  arms,  in 
great  distress  to  get  to  New  Orleans,  and  proposed 
herself  as  stewardess.  I  saw  she  was  in  trouble,  some 
how — young,  beautiful,  and  unprotected;  I  have  daugh 
ters  just  her  age;  I  imagined  them  in  a  similar  position. 
Her  dignified  modesty  was  a  sufficient  recommendation 
and  guaranty.  I  knew  she  would  be  hurt  at  the  offer 
of  a  free  passage,  so  I  told  her  that  I  needed  a  second 
stewardess.  That  is  all  I  know  about  her ;  and,  as  I 
said  before,  while  she  is  aboard  my  ship,  I  will  protect 
her  as  if  she  were  my  own  child ;"  and  the  old  man 
stowed  away  a  tobacco-quid,  and  walked  fore  and  aft 
the  cabin,  with  a  determined  step. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  foiled  Fritz;  "your  sentiments 
do  you  honor,  captain.  But  I  have  not  seen  her  for 
two  or  three  days  ;  is  she  sick  ?" 

"  No ;  but  the  boy  is,  and  I  told  her  to  let  every 
thing  go  by  the  board,  and  attend  to  him  till  he  was 
better.  Beautiful  child  he  is  too ;  I  have  never  seen  a 
finer  one.  Docto-r  Perry  thinks  he  will  soon  right 
him," 


ROSE     CLARK.  191 

"  Doctor  Perry !"  exclaimed  Fritz,  with  a  spasm  of 
jealousy ;  "  it  is  my  opinion  he  will  make  a  long  job 
curing  that  boy." 

"  The  doctor  is  not  one  of  your  sort,"  said  the  cap 
tain  ;  "  her  very  defenselessness  would  be  to  him  her 
surest  shield.  The  doctor  is  a  fine  man,  Mr.  Fritz." 

"  Yes,  and  young  and  unmarried,"  answered  Fritz, 
with  a  prolonged  whistle.  "We  shall  see,"  said  he, 
taking  the  captain's  spy-glass  to  look  at  a  vessel 
that  was  looming  up  in  the  distance. 

"  Charley  appears  brighter  to-day,"  said  Rose  to 
Doctor  Perry.  "  Captain  Lucas  is  very  kind  to  me  ; 
but  I  am  very  anxious  to  get  about  to  fulfill  my  en 
gagements.  Don't  you  think  my  boy  will  be  well 
soon  ?" 

"  There  is  every  prospect  of  it,"  said  Doctor  Perry. 
"  He  is  improving  fast.  I  will  stay  by  him,  if  you  will 
allow  me,"  said  he,  more  anxious  to  give  Rose^  a  re 
prieve  from  the  confined  air  of  the  cabin  than  solicit 
ous  for  the  "  fulfillment  of  her  engagements." 

"Thank  you,"  replied  Rose,  in  her  usual  grave 
tone,  without  raising  her  eyes ;  "  but  I  would  not  like 
to  trouble  you." 

"  Nothing  you  could  ask  would  trouble  me,"  replied 
the  doctor,  "  unless  you  asked  me  to  leave  your  pres 
ence." 

Rose  drew  her  girlish  form  up  to  its  full  height  as 


192  ROSE     CLARK. 

she  answered :  "  I  did  not  think  you  would  take  ad 
vantage  of  my  position  to  insult  me,  sir." 

"  Nor  have  I,  nor  do  I,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  a 
flushed  brow.  "  I  love  you — I  love  you  honorably ;  I 
would  make  you  my  wife ;  I  am  incapable  of  insulting 
any  woman." 

Tears  sprang  to  Rose's  eyes  as  she  answered,  "  For 
give  me ;  I  can  not  explain  to  you  why  I  am  so  sensi 
tive  to  a  fancied  insult." 

"  Nor  need  you,"  replied  the  doctor,  as  an  expres 
sion  of  acute  pain  passed  over  his  fine  features ; 
"  Rose,  let  me  stand  between  you  and  harm ;  be  my 
wife — my  own,  dear,  honored  wife." 

"  Oh  no,  no,  no !"  gasped  Rose,  retreating  as  he 
approached  her;  "you  do  not  know — or  you  would 
not.  Sir !"  and  the  color  receded  from  her  lip  and 
cheek — "  that  boy ! — God  knows  I  believed  myself  an 
honored  wife." 

"Rose,"  again  repeated  the  doctor,  without  heed 
ing  her  confession,  "  will  you  be  my  wife  ?" 

"I  can  not,"  said  Rose,  moved  to  tears  by  his 
generous  confidence,  "  that  would  be  sin — I  have  no 
heart  to  give  you.  Though  all  is  mystery,  though  I 
never  more  may  see  him,  I  love  the  father  of  my 
boy." 

The  doctor  rose,  and  walked  the  little  cabin. 

"Is  this  your  final  answer?"  asked  he,  returning 
to  the  side  of  Rose. 


KOSECLAEK.  193 

"  I  can  give  no  other,  much  as  I  thank  you  for  this 
proof  of  your — "  and  here  her  voice  again  failed  her. 

"  Rose,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  passionately  seizing 
her  hand,  "I  will  not  ask  you  to  love  me.  I  will  be 
satisfied  if  you  will  allow  me  to  love  you?* 

Poor  Rose,  none  knew  better  than  herself  how  elo 
quently  the  heart  may  plead ;  and  'because  she  knew 
this,  because  only  to  the  voice  of  the  loved  one  would 
the  chords  of  her  heart  vibrate,  did  she  turn  away  from 
that  pleading  voice  and  those  brimming  eyes. 

For  a  long  time  Rose  sat  with  her  face  buried  in 
her  hands  after  the  doctor  left  her.  It  was  hard  so  to 
repay  such  trust.  Could  he  only  be  her  brother — her 
counselor — but  no — her  path  in  life  must  be  solitary. 

Would  the  cloud  never  roll  away  ? 

Must  it  always  be  so  ? 

Would  Vincent  never  come  to  claim  her  ? 

Would  a  life  of  purest  rectitude  never  meet  its  re 
ward? 

Would  the  world's  scornful  "Magdalena"  be  her 
earth-baptism  ? 

Would  the  sweet  fount  of  her  boy's  life  be  turned 
to  bitterness  ? 

Would  he  grow  up  to  blush  at  his  mother's  name  ? 

Would  his  hand  be  raised  in  deadly  fray  to  avenge 
the  undeserved  taunt  which  yet  he  knew  not  how  to 
repel  ? 

O,  Vincent ! 

9 


194  HOSE      CLAEK. 

Rose;s  refusal  of  Doctor  Perry  but  added  fuel  to 
the  flame ;  it  is  the  unattainable  we  seek,  the  unattain 
able  only  that  we  fancy  can  satisfy ;  the  unattainable 
that  at  any  cost  we  must  have. 

How  could  he  give  her  up  ?  How  think  of  her  in 
the  great,  busy,  wicked  city,  to  which  she  was  going, 
unfriended  and  penniless?  Was  there  no  way  he 
could  be  of  service  to  her  ?  "No  way  in  which,  with 
out  offending  her  sensitiveness,  he  could  shield  her 
from  suffering  and  insult.  Who  was  the  father  of  her 
child  ?  She  "  still  loved  him,"  believed  him  true  to 
her^ — looked  forward  to  the  tune  when  his  honor 
should  be  vindicated  on  her  behalf. 

The  doctor  knew  more  of  the  world.  The  film 
would  fall  from  her  eyes  by  and  by ;  he  would  wait 
patiently  for  that  moment :  then,  perhaps,  she  would 
not  turn  away  from  him.  She  was  too  noble  to  cher 
ish  the  memory  of  one  she  believed  to  be  base. 
What  alliance  could  purity  have  with  pollution  ?  Poor, 
trusting,  wronged  Rose !  How  immeasurably  superior 
was  she  even  now,  and  scorned  thus,  to  the  pharisaic- 
al  of  her  own  sex  who,  intrenched  outwardly  in  pur 
ity,  and  pointing  the  finger  of  scorn  at  the  suspected 
of  their  own  sex,  yet  hold  out  the  ready  hand  of  wel 
come  to  him  who  comes  into  their  presence,  foul  from 
the  pollution  of  promiscuous  harlotry. 

Beautiful  consistency!     Pure  Christianity!     From 


KOSE     CLAliK.  195 

the  decision  of  such  an  incompetent  tribunal,  thank 
God !  Rose  could  appeal  to  a  Higher  Court. 

Rose  was  a  daily  marvel  to  the  conceited  Fritz. 
Accustomed  in  his  grosser  moments  to  those  debasing 
liasons  which  so  infallibly  unfit  a  man  for  the  society 
of  the  pure  in  heart,  he  could  not  comprehend  the  re 
serve — even  hauteur — with  which  the  pretty  Rose  re 
pelled  every  advance  to  an  acquaintance. 

At  first,  his  surprised  vanity  whispered  that  it  was 
only  a  cunning  little  ruse,  to  enhance  the  value  of  sur 
render,  but  this  astute  conclusion  was  doomed  to  be 
quenched  by  Rose's  determinate  and  continued  pei'sist- 
tency.  Then  Fritz  had  fallen  into  the  common  error  of 
fancying  that  to  know  one  woman  was  to  know  the 
whole  sex ;  not  dreaming  that  it  is  necessary  to  begin 
with  a  different  alphabet,  in  order  to  read  understand- 
ingly  each  new  female  acquaintance  ; — a  little  fact  which 
most  men  blunder  through  life  without  finding  out. 

In  vain  he  displayed  his  white  hands.  In  vain  he 
donned  successively  his  black  suit,  his  gray  suit,  and 
his  drab  suit  (which  last  he  never  resorted  to  except 
in  very  obstinate  cases) ;  in  vain  he  tied  his  cravats  in 
all  sorts  of  fanciful  forms ;  in  vain  he  played  "  sick"  in 
his  crimson  silk  dressing-gown,  or  languished  on  deck 
in  his  Jersey  overcoat.  In  vain  he,  who  detested  chil 
dren,  made  advances  through  Charley,  who  was  now 
convalescent ;  in  vain  he  remarked  in  Rose's  hearing 
that  "  his  gloves  needed  mending,"  and  that  "  the  but- 


196  ROSE     CLARK. 

tons  were  off  his  linen."  Rose  might  as  well  have  been 
deaf,  dumb,  and  blind,  for  all  the  notice  she  took  of 
him. 

It  was  unaccountable.  Fritz  was  piqued — in  fact  he 
did  not  like  it,  and  consulted  his  never-failing  solace, 
the  looking-glass,  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  There 
was  still  Fritz  enough  left  (such  was  the  verdict  of  the 
looking-glass),  spite  of  sea-sickness,  to  satisfy  any  rea 
sonable  woman. 

"  Pooh !  Rose  was  a  stupid  little  thing ;  that  was 
the  amount  of  it ;  there  was  no  use  wasting  his  time  on 
her ;"  and  this  last,  by  the  way,  was  the  only  sensible 
reflection  he  had  yet  arrived  at.  He  could  fancy  very 
well  why  she  had  not  liked  Doctor  Perry  (the  doctor's 
distrait  manner  of  late  had  attracted  his  notice).  "  Perry 
was  well  enough,  but" — and  Fritz  finished  the  sentence 
by  affectionately  caressing  his  adolescent  mustache." 

"  Yes,  Rose  was  a  stupid  little  automaton — she  had 
no  soul."  Fritz  had  so  much  soul  himself,  that  he  con 
sidered  that  article  a  sine  qua  non  in  any  woman  he 
honored  with  his  notice. 

Meanwhile  the  gallant  vessel  plowed  her  plashing 
way  through  the  pathless  waters.  Over  the  mermaids, 
if  there  were  any,  over  the  coral  reefs,  over  the  won- 
drously  beautiful  sea-weeds,  over  the  sheeted  dead  in 
their  monumentless  sepulchers  ;  dashing — plunging — • 
creaking — soaring  and  sinking — defying  winds  and 


ROSE     CLAKK.  197 

storms — scattering  the  dolphins — startling  the  sea-birds 
— hailing  cheerily  the  homeward  and  outward  bound- 
careering  as  gayly  over  the  treacherous  waves,  as  if  the 
shivering  of  a  mast,  a  little  water  in  the  hold,  or  the 
leaden  lids  of  the  pilot,  might  not  land  the  passengers 
with  their  joys,  sorrows,  and  embryo  plans  on  that 
measureless  shore  whence  there  is  no  return  boat. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

"  I  AM  sorry  for  you,  my  dear  Perry,"  replied  the 
captain.  "  Rose  is  a  glorious,  little  creature,  and  you 
are  a  whole-souled  fellow,  and  I  wish  I  could  pilot 
your  boat  into  the  port  of  matrimony ;  but  women  are 
queer  things,  you  can  no  more  tell  which  way  they  'd 
be  likely  to  jump,  than  I  can  tell  what  wind  will  next 
blow  my  vessel.  £Tow,  I  should  have  thought  she  is 
all  alone  so,  and  unprovided — but  it  is  no  use  talking, 
cheer  up,  Perry.  I  will  do  all  you  ask ;  I  '11  disburse 
the  funds  for  you,  and  she  shall  never  know  where  it 
comes  from ;  you  are  a  good  fellow,  Perry ;  there  are 
not  many  rejected  suitors  that  would  act  as  magnani 
mously  as  you  have ;  but  do  you  suppose  when  you 
get  to  "New  Orleans  you  can  watch  over  her,  with 
out  her  finding  it  out  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I  think  so,  with  the  aid 
of  a  little  disguise,  false  whiskers,  etc.  At  any  rate,  it 
is  no  use  for  me  to  try  to  fix  my  mind  on  any  thing.  I 
never  was  in  love  before,  never  saw  a  woman  whom  I 
did  not  shudder  to  think  of,  in  the  light  of  a  life-com 
panion.  Perhaps  you  marvel  that  I  can  overlook,  what 


ROSE     CLARK.  199 

to  most  men  would  be  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  mar 
riage  with  Rose ;  and  yet,  viewing  it  through  the 
world's  spectacles,  why  should  you  ?  Do  not  priests 
and  parents  every  day  legalize  the  prostitution  of 
youth  to  toothless  Mammon  ?  Beside  Rose  has  been  de 
ceived.  She  is  at  heart  pure.  In  God's  sight,  she  is 
innocent.  I  would  stand  between  her  and  the  scorn  of 
the  world.  She  has  been  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning," 

"  True,"  said  the  captain,  "  and  loves  the  rascal  in 
spite  of  it." 

"Because,  with  a  woman's  generous  devotion,  she 
does  not  believe  him  false ;  she  looks  yet  to  have  the 
mystery  cleared  up,  and  to  find  his  honor  untar 
nished." 

"  God  grant  it,  for  her  sake,"  replied  the  captain. 

"  Amen !"  exclaimed  Perry ;  for  in  truth  his  love  for 
Rose,  surpassing  the  love  of  men,  was  capable  even  of 
this  magnanimity. 

"  Shipwreck  me !"  exclaimed  the  captain,  consoling 
himself  with  a  bit  of  tobacco,  "  if  I  can  make  out  how 
it  is,  that  the  finest  women  invariable  throw  them 
selves  away  on  these  good-for-nothing  fellows.  It  is 
always  so,  Perry." 

"  "Not  always,"  said  the  doctor.  "  Not  in  your  case, 
at  least,"  and  he  grasped  the  captain's  hand. 

"Thank  you — thank  you,"  replied  Captain  Lucas, 
with  emotion.  "  I  believe  my  Mary  is  a  happy  wife." 


200  KOSE     CLARK. 

And  this  was  ISTew  Orleans !  its  hot  breath  swept 
across  Rose's  cheek,  as  she  stood  upon  the  deck  of  the 
Neptune,  gazing  upon  its  nearing  spires,  roofs,  and 
chimneys.  The  city's  distant  hum  even  now  falls 
upon  her  watchful  ear.  Amid  its  motley  population 
should  she  find  him  whom  she  had  come  to  seek? 
Would  he  take  the  pain  from  out  her  young  heart  ? 
claim  her,  and  his  boy  ?  or  should  she  walk  the 
crowded  streets  day  by  day,  reading  faces,  measuring 
forms,  listening  to  voices,  and  return  at  nightfall  with 
eye,  ear,  and  heart,  dissatisfied. 

"Rose?" 

She  turned  her  head.  "A  few  words  with  you," 
said  Captain  Lucas. 

Ah — that  was  what  she  had  been  dreading,  payment 
for  her  services,  and  they  had  been  so  slight,  so  inter 
rupted  by  Charley's  sickness,  and  so  she  told  the  cap 
tain  with  her  usual  ingenuousness,  for  she  had  begun 
to  fear  latterly  that  Captain  Lucas  had  not  needed 
them  at  all,  and  that  his  engagement  with  her  was  a 
delicate  cover  for  his  charity.  But  it  was  useless  talk 
ing  ;  the  captain  was  as  peremptory  as  if  he  were  on 
quarter-deck  among  his  sailors,  instead  of  talking  there 
in  the  cabin  to  a  little  woman  four  feet  high ;  he  said 
"he  was  in  a  hurry," he  said  (presenting  her  with  Doctor 
Perry's  roll  of  bills  after  he  had  himself  paid  her)  that 
"  that  was  a  present  from  himself  for  Charley,"  and  he 
said  that  as  she  was  all  alone,  she  must  lot  an  old  man 


EOSE     CLAKK.  201 

like  him  direct  her  where  to  find  proper  lodgings ;  so 
he  penciled  on  a  card  the  address  of  an  old  lady, 
whose  quiet  house  he  thought  would  just  suit  her ;  and 
then  he  said,  kissing  Charley,  "  God  bless  you  both," 
and  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

Good  Captain  Lucas !  when  was  ever  a  sailor's  heart 
callous  to  the  touch  of  sorrow?  May  there  not  be 
something  in  the  strong  brave  element  on  which  he 
rides  to  quicken  what  is  grand  and  noble  in  his  na 
ture? 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

ROSE  found  the  new  quarters  to  which  Captain 
Lucas  had  directed  her,  very  comfortable.  Her  French 
landlady  seemed  altogether  too  busy,  attending  to  her 
domestic  matters,  and  nursing  her  poodle,  to  trouble 
herself  about  Rose's  private  affairs.  This  of  itself 
was  an  infinite  relief,  for  she  had  learned  to  shrink 
from  the  scrutiny  of  strangers.  Her  apartment  was 
furnished  neatly,  and  Charley's  delight  was  unbounded 
to  be  able  to  pursue  his  educational  baby  instincts,  un- 
trameled  by  the  pitching  of  the  vessel.  But  Rose 
counted  every  moment  lost,  in  which  she  was  not  pur 
suing  her  search  for  Vincent;  a  night  of  broken 
slumber,  a  hurried  breakfast,  a  hasty  toilet,  and  she 
started  with  Charley  in  her  arms  on  her  almost  hope 
less  errand,  she  scarce  knew  whither. 

Past  the  large  hotel,  on  whose  broad  piazza  stran 
gers  and  citizens  congregated,  past  the  busy  stores, 
past  the  quays  and  wharves,  turning  hastily  the 
street  corners,  gazing  into  shops,  now  startled  by  the 
tone  of  a  voice,  now  quickening  her  pace  at  the  de 
ceptive  outline  of  a  distant  form.  Fear  found  no 


ROSE     CLA.KK.  203 

place  in  her  throbbing  heart,  and  if  it  had,  was  there 
not  an  angel  in  her  arms  ?  It  is  a  sweet  thought,  that 
the  presence  of  a  little  child  is  often  to  an  unattended 
woman  the  surest  protection.  The  abandoned  idler 
recognizes  and  respects  this  holy  tie.  He,  too,  was 
once  a  pure  and  stainless  child — the  lisping  little  voice 
seems  to  whisper  in  his  sin-dulled  ear,  "  Go  and  sin  no 
more." 

Rose  could  not  have  told  why,  of  all  the  Southern 
cities,  she  had  selected  ISTew  Orleans  for  her  search  for 
Vincent.  Had  you  asked,  she  could  have  given  no 
reason  for  the  magnetism  which  had  drawn  her  thither. 

Still  she  pursued  her  search  day  after  day,  spite  of 
discouragement ;  still  the  great  busy  human  tide  ebbed 
and  flowed  past  her,  bearing  on  its  surface  barks  with 
out  ballast — barks  without  rudder  or  compass — drifting 
hither  and  thither,  careless  how  surely  Tune's  rapids 
were  hurrying  them  on  to  the  shoreless  ocean  of  eternity. 

It  was  evening.  Rose  had  put  Charley  in  his  little 
bed  to  sleep,  and  sat  at  the  open  window,  as  she  had 
done  many  an  evening  before,  watching  and  listening. 
It  was  now  a  fortnight  since  she  came  to  New  Orleans, 
and  still  no  clew  of  Vincent.  She  could  not  always  live 
m  this  way ;  she  had  not  the  purse  of  Fortunatus ;  she 
must  soon  again  seek  employment.  Rose's  heart  grew 
sick  and  faint  with  hope  deferred. 

A  low  moan  of  pain  fell  upon  her  ear.  She  started 
to  her  feet  and  ran  up  to  the  little  bed.  It  was  not 


204  ROSE     CLARK. 

Charley ;  he  was  quietly  sleeping.  She  looked  out  of 
the  window ;  a  woman  had  fallen  upon  the  pavement 
beneath  it.  Rose  ran  down  the  steps  to  her  assistance. 
She  had  only  turned  her  ankle,  but  the  pain  was  so 
acute  that  she  was  unable  to  rise  unaided. 

"  Lean  on  me,"  said  Rose,  as  she  gently  placed  her 
arm  at  her  disposal,  and  guided  her  up  the  steps  and 
into  her  little  parlor;  then  kneeling  before  her,  she 
gently  drew  off  the  stocking,  and  laved  the  pained  foot 
with  cold  water.  It  was  a  pretty  foot,  small,  white, 
and  if  a  high  instep,  as  some  would  have  us  believe,  is 
proof  of  "  blood,"  an  aristocratic  foot.  The  stranger 
might  have  been  twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  had  the 
remains  of  great  beauty. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  she,  at  length,  opening 
her  large  eyes ;  "  very  kind — and  beautiful  too ;  more 's 
the  pity.  I  was  once  beautiful ;  look  at  me  now.  You 
don't  believe  it,  perhaps.  He  thought  so;  he  said, 
4  my  eyes  were  stars,  my  teeth  pearls.'  Did  you  ever 
love?  It  is  very  sweet  to  be  loved.  My  mother 
died ;  my  father  had  a  new  wife.  In  their  happiness 
they  forgot  me,  and  in  my  loneliness  I  prayed  for 
death.  Then  he  came.  Oh,  wow?  I  prayed  to  live !  he 
made  earth  so  fair  to  me.  I  was  glad  that  I  was  beau 
tiful  for  his  sake.  He  asked  me  to  be  his  wife.  So  one 
night,  when  the  stars  came  out,  I  put  my  hand  in  his, 
and  looked  on  my  home  for  the  last  time.  I  knew  my 
father  and  his  new  wife  would  not  miss  me.  Oh,  I  was 


ROSE     CLAEK.  205 

so  happy !  I  did  not  see  the  face  of  the  priest  who 
married  us ;  it  was  down  by  the  old  church,  and  the 
stars  were  the  only  witnesses.  That  night  I  slept  on 
my  husband's  breast,  and  I  wished  my  mother  were 
living  to  know  how  blest  was  her  child.  You  are 
glad  I  was  so  happy ;  you  think  some  day  you  will  be 
happy  too ;  you  think  you  will  madden  some  fiery 
heart  with  love.  So  you  may ;  and  then  you  will  be 
the  blighted  thing  I  am  ;  for  our  marriage  was  a 
mockery ;  the  priest  was  his  servant.  One  night,  as 
I  sat  at  the  window  watching  for  him,  I  heard  voices ; 
I  heard  him,  my  husband,  speak  my  name  lightly  to 
this  servant.  I,  who  believed  myself  his  wife ;  I,  who 
had  thought  to  turn  my  back  on  misery  forever,  and 
hug  happiness  to  my  bosom ;  I,  who  had  trusted  all, 
given  all,  and  asked  for  no  surety !  I  heard  him  plan 
with  his  servant  to  decoy  a  young  school-girl  to  his  arms, 
and  blight  her  as  he  had  me.  The  roof  over  my  head 
stifled  me  ;  I  did  not  stay  to  upbraid  him ;  I  could  not 
have  taken  a  drop  of  water  from  his  hand  had  I  been 
dying.  I  fled  from  the  house ; — but  oh !  not  as  I  left 
my  childhood's  home  \  I  sought  labor ;  for  I  loathed 
sin.  None  would  employ  me ;  I  hungered  for  bread ; 
all  turned  coldly  away.  Then  one  saw  me,  who 
knew  my  story,  and  wherever  I  turned,  scorn  pointed 
her  finger.  The  c  good'  closed  their  doors,  and  said, 
4  Stand  aside,  I  am  holier  than  thou ;'  the  bad  opened 
theirs,  and  said,  cEat,  drink,  and  be  merry.'  Then 


206  ROSE     CLARK. 

Despair  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  led  me  in.  Sin  fed 
me,  clothed  me  ;  sin  baptized  my  child. 

"  One  night,  with  other  revelers,  lie  came  to  that> 
unholy  place  ;  he,  my  '  husband !' — oh,  it  was  gay ! 
He  smiled  the  old  smile ;  he  said,  c  Right,  my  girl,  a 
short  life  and  a  merry  one  ;  there  is  no  future — we  die 
and  there 's  an  end !'  My  tortured  soul  gave  these 
false  words  the  lie ;  but  I  smiled  back — he  was  to  be 
my  victim  now!  Peace  was  lost,  heaven  was  lost; 
what  should  hold  me  back?  The  wine  cup  went 
round.  '  Pledge  me,'  I  said,  '  here  's  to  your  happy 
future  !'  He  drained  it,  poison  and  all,  to  the  dregs — 
why  not  ?  Men  make  the  laws  to  suit  themselves,  so 
they  make  no  law  for  the  seducer.  I  had  to  be  judge 
and  jury  ;  oh  it  was  gay  !  He  writhed — why  not  ? 
What  was  it  to  the  writhings  of  my  spirit  every  hour 
in  that  accursed  gilded  prison-house!  He  died,  my 
seducer ;  then  I  fled  hither. 

"  Down — down — down  I  am  going ;  beauty  buys  me 
no  bread  now ;  down — down  !"  and  the  fire  died  out 
from  her  eyes,  and  her  head  drooped  upon  her  breast. 

"  Dreadful,"  said  the  horror-struck  Rose,  "  don't  talk 
so,  I  am  a  stranger  here  ;  but  surely,"  and  the  crimson 
flush  overspread  her  cheeks,  "  there  must  be  Magdalen 
Asylums  here." 

"  Oh,  that 's  gay,"  said  the  half-crazed  woman,  laugh 
ing  hysterically,  "gay;  they  write  'Magdalen'  over 
the  door  where  you  go  in  and  out,  they  tell  visitors 


ROSE     CLARK.  207 

you  are  a  c  Magdalen,'  when  you  want  to  hide  your 
shame,  and  be  good.  They  drag  you  away  from  heav 
en,  and  then  tell  you  to  go  there.  Listen,"  and  she 
lowered  her  voice,  and  laid  her  thin  hand  on  that  of 
Hose.  "  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  story.  Once, 
at  the  Magdalen  Asylum,  a  young  girl,  half  starved,  and 
out  of  employment,  came  and  asked  for  a  shelter.  They 
asked  her  '  if  she  was  virtuous,'  she  said  4  yes,'  then 
they  shut  the  door  in  her  face,  saying  '  that  their  house 
was  for  Magdalens ;'  she  wept,  and  wrung  her  hands,  as 
she  turned  away  into  the  dark  night.  Next  day  she 
came  back,  and  said,  c  take  me  in,  now,  I  'm  a  Magda 
len,  now  I  shall  have  a  shelter.'  Oh  it  was  gay ;  chil 
dren  of  this  world  are  wiser  in  their  generation  than 
the  children  of  light.  Satan  is  too  busy;  down,  down. 
If  Vincent  sees  your  pretty  face  you  '11  go  down,  down, 
too,  but  Vincent 's  dead.  Good-by,  you  are  beautiful, 
more 's  the  pity." 

The  poor,  half-crazed  creature  pressed  Rose's  robe 
to  her  lips,  and  limped  away,  and  like  one  under  the 
influence  of  night-mare,  Rose  sat  gazing  spell-bound, 
after  her  retreating  form  without  the  power  of  speech 
or  motion. 

Shine  on,  as  ye  have  shone,  gentle  stars! 

Look  down  upon  crushed  innocence  and  triumphant 
guilt,  upon  ragged  virtue,  and  ermined  vice — upon  the 
wretched  who  pray  to  die,  and  the  loved  and  loving 


208  EOSE     CLARK. 

whose  uplifted  hands,  and  tears  of  agony,  fail  to  stay 
death's  dart. 

Roll  on,  gentle  stars ! 

Shall  not  He,  who  feedeth  your  never-consuming  fires, 
yet  make  every  crooked  path  straight,  every  rough 
place  plain  ?  What  though  the  tares  grow  amid  the 
wheat  until  the  harvest,  shall  not  the  great  Husband 
man  surely  winnow  them  out,  and  gather  the  wheat 
into  the  heavenly  granary  ? 

Roll  on,  gentle  stars ! 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

ME.  JOHN  HOWE  sat  comfortably  in  his  easy-chair, 
smoking  his  chibouk.  Mrs.  Howe  sat  opposite  to  him, 
dressed  in  a  fashionable  suit  of  black,  with  her  gaiter- 
boots  on  a  bronze  hound. 

"  John  ?» 

John  smoked  away  as  imperturbably  as  if  he  were  a 
bachelor. 

"  Mr.  Howe  ?» 

"  Well,"  replied  John,  complacently  regarding  the 
curling  smoke. 

"  Do  you  know  this  is  the  last  day  of  June  ?" 

"  Well,"  repeated  John. 

" '  Well — well !'  Mr.  Howe,  I  do  wish  you  'd  stop 
thinking  of  that  contemptible  political  paper  you  are 
reading,  and  attend  to  me.  But  before  I  begin,  I  wish 
to  say  that  I  should  like  a  paper  in  the  house  that  has 
something  in  it.  There  is  not  an  account  of  the  fash 
ions  in  that  newspaper  from  one  year's  end  to  the 
other ;  in  fact,  there  is  nothing  in  it  but  politics — poli 
tics  ;  it  is  the  stupidest  paper  I  ever  read.  Why  don't 
you  take  the  c  Lady's  Garland,'  now,  or  '  The  Parlor 


210  ROSE     CLAEK. 

Weekly,'  or  some  such  interesting  periodical,  with 
those  lovely  fashion-prints,  and  caff  and"  collar  patterns, 
and  crochet  guides  ?  One  would  think  you  imagined 
a  woman's  mind  needed  no  nutriment  at  all.  What 
are  you  laughing  at,  Mr.  Howe?" 

"  Your  thirst  for  knowledge,"  replied  John. 

"  Laugh  away — it  is  a  great  point  gained  to  get  one's 
husband  good-humored.  Now,  listen  :  Mrs.  St.  Pierre 
has  gone  into  the  country,  so  has  Mrs.  Ralph  Denys, 
and  Mrs.  George  Cook  goes  to-morrow." 

"  What  the  deuce  has  that  to  do  with  us?"  asked  John. 

"  It  is  so  vulgar  to  stay  in  the  city  in  summer,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Howe.  "  Nobody  does  it  but  tradespeople, 
and  those  who  can  not  afford  to  migrate.  I  tell  you  it 
is  indispensable  for  people  in  our  station  not  to  be  seen 
here  in  the  summer  months." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  seen,"  said  John,  still  puffing. 
"  Shut  the  front  window-shutters  ;  let  the  silver  door- 
plate  grow  rusty,  and  the  cobwebs  gather  on  the 
blinds  and  front-door ;  live  in  the  back  part  of  the 
house  ;  never  go  out  except  in  the  evening.  That 's 
the  way  half  the  fashionables  '  go  into  the  country ;' 
confounded  cheap  way,  too,"  and  John  laughed  merrily. 

"  Now,  John,"  said  his  wife,  "  where  did  you  pick 
that  up  ?  I  took  good  care  not  to  tell  you  that,  be 
cause  I  knew  I  should  never  hear  the  last  of  it ;  but 
even  that  is  better  than  to  be  thought  unfashionable. 
Still,  it  is  not  like  having  a  country  seat." 


KOSE     CLARK.  2V 1 

"  A  country-seat !"  ejaculated  John,  wheeling  square 
round,  so  as  to  face  his  wife  ;  "  catch  me  at  it !  Eat 
up  by  musquitos,  kept  awake  by  bull-frogs,  serenaded 
by  tree-toads,  bored  to  death  by  riding-parties  from 
the  city,  who  devour  your  fruit,  break  off  your*  flowers, 
and  bark  your  trees;  horses  and  carriages  to  keep, 
two  or  three  extra  servants,  conservatory,  hot-house, 
stables,  barns,  garden-tools,  ice-house — shan't  do  it, 
Mrs.  Howe ;"  and  John  turned  his  back,  put  his  heels 
deliberately  up  on  the  window-seat,  and  resumed  his 
chibouk. 

Mrs.  Howe  smiled  a  little  quiet  smile,  snapped  her 
finger,  as  if  at  some  invisible  enemy,  and  tiptoeing  up 
behind  her  husband's  chair,  whispered  something  in 
his  conjugal  ear. 

The  second  time  that  magic  whisper  had  conquered 
Mr.  Howe ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SLOWLY  Rose  regained  her  consciousness.  Had  she 
been  dreaming  about  Vincent's  death  ?  The  dim  light 
of  morning  was  struggling  in  through  the  vines  that 
latticed  the  window.  She  raised  herself  from  the  floor. 
Ah,  now  she  remembered.  It  was  only  the  incoherent 
ravings  of  the  poor  crazed  being  who  had  been  in  the 
evening  before  ;  how  foolish  to  let  it  make  her  so  mis 
erable  !  As  if  there  were  not  more  than  one  person  of 
the  name  of  Vincent  in  the  world.  She  tried  to  shake 
off  her  miserable  thoughts ;  she  knelt  by  the  side  of 
little  Charley's  bed,  and  kissed  his  blue  eyes  awake, 
although  it  was  scarcely  daylight ;  for  she  felt  so  lonely, 
just  as  if  Tier  Vincent  were  really  dead,  and  the  wide 
earth  held  but  one.  She  took  Charley  up  and  held  him 
in  her  arms,  and  laid  her  cheek  to  his.  Strange  she 
could  not  shake  off  that  leaden  feeling.  It  must  be  that 
she  were  ill,  she  was  so  excitable  ;  she  would  be  better 
after  breakfast.  Sad  work  those  trembling  fingers  made 
with  Charley's  toilet  that  morning.  Still  she  kept 
tying,  and  buttoning,  and  pinning,  and  rolling  his  curls 
over  her  fingers— for  the  restless,  unquiet  heart  finds 


HOSE     CLARK.  213 

relief  in  motion ;  ay,  motion — when  the  brain  reels  and 
despair  tugs  at  the  heart-strings.  Oh,  Tune  be  merci 
ful  !  bear  swiftly  on  the  restless  spirit  to  meet  its  fate  ; 
torture  it  no  longer,  suspended  by  a  hair  over  the 
dread  abyss ! 

It  had  commenced  raining.  Rose  believed  it  was 
that  which  made  her  linger  on  that  morning,  forgetting 
through  how  many  drenching  rains  she  had  patiently 
traversed  those  streets. 

She  walks  back  and  forth  from  the  window  irreso 
lutely.  She  thinks  she  will  wait  till  the  skies  clear. 
Poor  Rose!  will  thy  sky  ever  be  clear?  Now  she 
listlessly  takes  up  a  newspaper,  with  which  Charley  has 
been  playing.  She  smooths  out  its  crumpled  folds,  and 
reads  mechanically  through  advertisements  of  runaway 
negroes,  sales  of  slaves  at  the  auction  block,  ship-news, 
casualties,  marriages,  deaths.  Ah !  what  is  that  ? 

"THE  MYSTERY  EXPLAINED. 

"  It  is  at  length  ascertained  that  the  young  man  who  was  poisoned 
in  Natchez,  in  a  house  of  questionable  reputation,  by  an  abandon 
ed  female,  was  Yincent  L'Estrange  Yincent.  The  deceased  was 
about  twenty-five,  of  splendid  personal  appearance,  and  will  doubt 
less  be  much  regretted  by  the  large  and  fashionable  circle  in  which 
he  moved.  The  murderess  has  not  yet  been  apprehended." 

The  arrow  has  reached  its  mark — the  bolt  has  sped 
— the  weary  search  is  ended — Vincent  is  found.  Rose's 
Vincent  ? 

No,  not  hers. 


214  ROSE     CLAKK. 

The  idol  is  dethroned  forever:  the  Vincent  Tier 
innocent  heart  loved  was  good,  and  pure,  and  true. 
Rose  suffers,  but  she  no  longer  loves.  There  is  a 
deep  sense  of  wrong  and  injury,  a  hurried  look  back 
upon  all  that  is  lost,  a  shuddering  look  forward,  from 
youth's  blighted  threshhold,  at  the  long,  dreary  years 
yet  to  come — a  helpless  folding  of  the  hands  at  Fate 
— a  hopeless,  tearless,  measureless  grief. 

Blessed  tears  come  quickly ;  lighten  that  heavy  load ; 
moisten  those  burning  eyelids ;  unclasp  those  icy 
hands ;  give  to  those  dumb  lips  speech ;  take  from 
young  life  death's  stony  semblance  ! 

Speak  to  her,  Charley.  Stir  the  deep  fountains  of  a 
mother's  love,  poor  fatherless  one  !  Kestle  close  to 
her  desolate  heart.  Bid  her  live  for  thee,  Charley. 
Tell  her  that  'mid  thorns  roses  are  found.  Tell  her  that 
to  the  night  alone,  many  a  dew-gemmed  flower  yields 
up  its  incense. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII.    - 

"THAT  will  do,  Mrs.  Macque,  thank  you;  now  a 
small  wine-glass  and  another  tea-spoon,  if  you  please, 
for  the  light  stand.  I  think  we  can  leave  nurse  Chloe 
with  my  patient  now,"  said  the  speaker,  turning  to  a 
tall  negress.  "  You  understand,  Chloe,  give  her  the 
drops  at  four  in  the  morning,  if  she  should  waken ;  if 
the  effect  of  the  opiate  lasts  longer,  do  not  disturb 
her.  I  shall  be  in  by  six  in  the  morning,"  and  Doctor 
Perry  took  his  leave. 

]Sro,  not  his  leave ;  he  might  not  stay  with  Rose, 
but  he  could  pace  up  and  down  beneath  her  window ; 
he  could  see  by  the  faint  light  of  the  shaded  night-lamp, 
the  shadow  of  the  nurse's  figure  on  the  muslin  window- 
curtains,  and  know  that  she  was  faithful  at  her  post ; 
yes,  he  could  walk  there,  and  the  time  would  not  seem 
long  while  he  thought  of  Rose. 

Did  she  think,  poor  child,  that  his  love  could  be 
chilled  by  aught  but  un worthiness  ? 

Did  she  think  it  could  die  out  though  no  encourag 
ing  breath  of  her's  fanned  the  name? 

Did  she  think  he  could  leave  her  to  traverse  the 


216  ROSE     CLARK. 

crowded  streets  of  that  great  Sodom,  with  no  defense 
but  her  helplessness  ? 

Did  she  think  that  a  rejected  lover  could  not  be  a 
trustworthy,  firm,  and  untiring  friend  ? 

Did  she  think  that,  like  other  men,  he  would  mete 
out  his  attendance,  only  so  far  as  it  met  with  an  equiv 
alent  ? 

Dear  Rose ! 

How  often  he  had  longed,  as  he  had  followed  her  at 
a  distance  through  the  crowded  streets,  and  seen  her 
slight  form  bend  under  Charley's  burden,  to  offer  her 
his  protecting  arm.  How  he  had  longed,  when  the 
day's  fruitless  tramp  was  over,  to  go  to  her  in  the  little 
parlor,  and  bid  her  lay  her  weary  head,  fearlessly,  as  if 
on  a  brother's  breast,  and  now,  when  the  heart's  tonic — 
hope — had  been  suddenly  withdrawn,  would  the  droop 
ing  spirit  sink  ?  Medicine,  he  knew,  could  do  little  for 
the  soul's  malady,  but  what  it  could  do,  she  should  be 
benefited  by. 

The  old  colored  nurse  Chloe  drew  aside  the  bed-cur 
tains  to  look  at  her  charge.  How  still  she  lay — how 
white  and  wan.  "  Berry  sick,"  she  muttered,  with  a 
stake  of  her  turbaned  head,  "missis  berry  sick,"  and 
she  moved  gently  a  long  tress  of  hair  which  lay  across 
Rose's  forehead.  "  Missis  berry  young,"  she  muttered, 
"  no  wrinkles  dere  ;  missis'  heart  is  wrinkled,  pr'aps ; 
young  face  an'  ole  heart ;  some  trouble  been  dere,"  and 
the  old  negress  touched  the  little  snow-flake  of  a  hand 


ROSE     CLARK.  21*7 

which  lay  upon  the  coverlid.  "  Most  see  trough  it," 
she  muttered,  following  the  tracery  of  the  blue  veins. 
"  No  ring  on  de  wedding-finger  ;  ah  !  pr'aps  dat  's  it," 
said  the  old  negress,  "  den  she'd  better  nebber  wake 
up  again.  Black  skins  and  white  skins,  de  Lord  sends 
'em  both  trouble  to  make  it  all  even.  Some  one  ting, 
some  anodder.  My  ole  missis  Vincent  berry  rich,  but 
had  berry  bad  son ;  handsome,  but  berry  bad ;  lub  no 
body  but  himself;  die  like  a  dog  wid  all  his  money.  De 
Lord  he  makes  it  all  even,  dis  nigger  knows  dat ;  ole 
missis  Vincent  good  to  gib  ole  Chloe  her  freedom,  but 
missis'  son  berry  bad.  De  Lord  sends  some  one  ting, 
some  anodder,"  and  Chloe  folded  her  arms  philosophi 
cally,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

10 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

THE  door  of  Gertrude's  studio  was  ajar,  for  the  day 
was  warm,  and  the  lady  had  sat  persistently  at  her 
easel,  as  was  her  wont  (when  the  glow  was  on),  since 
early  day-light. 

Pictures  and  picture  frames,  canvas  and  brushes, 
sketches  in  oils,  engravings  and  crayons,  were  scat 
tered  round,  with  as  little  regard  to  housewife-ly  or 
der,  as  if  the  apartment  had  been  tenanted  by  one  of 
the  disorderly  sex ;  the  light  was  fine,  and  that  was  the 
most  Gertrude  cared  about. 

She  was  a  picture  herself  as  she  sat  there,  and 
though  a  woman,  was  not  aware  of  it.  The  loose, 
white  wrapper  she  wore  had  become  unfastened  at  the 
throat,  and  fallen  partially  off  one  shoulder,  revealing 
as  perfect  a  bust  as  ever  set  a  sculptor  or  lover  dream 
ing.  No  prettier  ornament  could  have  been  found 
to  keep  back  her  light  brown  tresses  than  her  tiny 
white  ears.  And  as  the  light  fell  upon  the  arm  and 
hand  which  held  her  .palette,  one  ceased  marveling, 
with  such  a  model  before  her,  at  her  successful  repro 
ductions  of  it  in  the  female  pictures. 


ROSE     CLARK.  219 

There  are  some  kinds  of  hair  which  always  look 
poetical,  whether  arranged  or  disarranged ;  their  glossy 
waves  changing  in  the  sun's  rays  like  the  arched  neck 
of  the  peerless  golden  pheasant;   now  brown,  now 
golden,  beautiful  whether  in  light   or  shade.      This 
was   one  of  Gertrude's  greatest   charms.     And  yet 
Gertrude  was  no  beauty ;  but  somehow  there  was  a 
witchery  about  her  which  made  you  think  so.     It 
might  have  been  the  play  of  expression  on  the  flexible 
lips,  the  warming  up  of  the  complexion,  the  sudden 
kindling  of  the  eye  with  smiles,  to  be  as  suddenly 
quenched  by  tears ;  the  rapid  transitions  from  pensive 
sadness  to  mischievous  mirth.     When  she  spoke,  you 
thought  the   charm  in  her  musical  voice,  when   she 
moved,  hi  the  symmetry  of  her  form ;  every  dress  she 
wore  you  wished  she  would  always  wear,  every  thing 
she  did  struck  you  as  being  most  perfectly  and  grace 
fully  done;  every  thing  she  said  was  pertinent  and 
piquant ;  she  had  thought  much,  and  read  little,  hence 
she  was  always  fresh  and  original ;  she  was  an  inde 
pendent  thinker,  and  though  strong-minded  and  clear 
headed,  was    strictly    feminine.      You    looked    your 
watch  in  the  face  incredulously  when  you  left  her,  as 
if  it,  not  she,  were  at  fault. 

"  I  really  do  not  think  I  can  do  better  than  that," 
she  soliloquized,  laying  down  her  brushes,  and  stepping 
back  to  look  at  her  picture,  "that  is  a  success;  I 
feel  it." 


220  ROSE     CLARK. 

"Saints  and  angels!"  she  exclaimed  as  the  door 
creaked  slightly  on  its  hinges;  "where  did  you  come 
from,  you  delicious  little  cherub  ?" 

Well  might  she  exclaim.  There  was  Charley,  the 
little  truant,  just  as  he  had  crept  out  of  bed,  looking 
(as  a  babe  always  does  when  it  first  wakes)  like  a  deli 
cate  morning-glory,  whose  dewy  beauty  the  first  sun's 
ray  will  exhale.  His  little  white  night-robe  hung 
loosely  about  him;  his  large  lustrous  eyes  were  full  of 
childish  wonder,  his  dark  hair  curled  in  moist  rings 
round  his  white  temples,  and  his  cheek  was  yet  warm 
with  the  flush  of  sleep. 

"  V^here  did  you  come  from,  you  beautiful  crea 
ture  ?"  said  Gertrude,  snatching  him  up,  and  kissing 
first  his  cherry  lips,  then  his  bare,  dimpled  foot,  with 
its  pink-tipped  toes,  then  his  ivory  shoulders;  "I  never 
saw  any  thing  half  so  beautiful — who  are  you,  you 
little  dumb  angel  ?" 

Charley  only  replied  by  cuddling  his  little  curly  head 
on  Gertrude's  shoulder,  for  even  infancy's  ear  may  be 
won  by  the  musical  sweetness  of  a  voice,  and  Ger 
trude's  tones  were  heart-tones. 

"  You  trusting  little  innocent,"  said  Gertrude,  as  her 
eye  moistened,  "  you  are  sweet  and  holy  enough  for  an 
Infant  Saviour.  There,  sit  there  now,  darling,"  said 
she,  placing  him  on  the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  scat 
tering  a  bunch  of  flowers  about  him  by  way  of  bribe, 


KOSE     CLARK.  221 

"  sit  there  now,  while  I  sketch  you  for  one,"  and  she 
flew  to  her  easel. 

"  Yah — yah,"  said  a  voice  at  the  door,  as  another 
model  presented  itself,  in  the  picturesque  turbaned 
head  of  Chloe,  "  yah — yah — you  cheat  ole  nurse  dis 
tune,  Massa  Charley — " 

"  Oh,  don't  take  him  away,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  lend 
him  to  me  a  little  while — whose  child  is  it  ?  I  almost 
hoped  he  belonged  to  nobody." 

"  Missis,  down  stairs,"  answered  Chloe ;  "  I  don't 
know  her  name ;  she  berry  sick,  I  only  came  las'  night 
to  nurse  her,  and  while  I  busy  here  and  dere,  Massa 
Charley  take  hisself  off." 

"  Your  mistress  is  sick  ?"  said  Gertrude ;  "  then  of 
course  she  does  not  want  this  little  piece  of  quicksilver 
squirming  round  her;  I  want  to  make  a  picture  of 
him  like  those  that  you  see,"  said  Gertrude,  pointing 
to  her  sketches  about  the  room ; — "  he  is  as  handsome 
as  an  angel;  leave  him  with  me,  never  fear,  I  can  charm 
babies  like  a  rattlesnake,  and  bite  them  too,"  she  added, 
touching  her  lips  to  Charley's  tempting  shoulders. 

"  But  my  missis — "  remonstrated  Chloe. 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Gertrude,  with  her  usual 
independence;  "no  mother  ever  was  angry  yet  be 
cause  her  child  was  admired.  I  will  bring  him  down  to 
your  door  when  he  gets  weary — there,  do  go  away — he 
grows  more  lovely  every  minute,  and  I  am  losing  time." 

It  was  not  strange  that  Gertrude  should  have  been 


222  ROSE     CLARK. 

unaware  of  the  presence  of  the  new  lodger,  rarely 
leaving  her  studio  and  the  little  room  adjoining,  where 
she  had  her  meals  served,  except  in.  the  evening,  when 
Rose  was  shut  up  in  her  own  apartment,  a  prey  to 
sorrowful  thoughts. 

Gertrude  was  as  unlike  other  women  in  her  dislike 
of  gossip  as  in  various  other  items  we  might  name. 
Provided  she  were  not  interfered  with,  it  mattered 
nothing  to  her  who  occupied  the  rooms  about  her.  It 
is  only  the  empty-minded  who,  having'  no  resources 
of  their  own',  busy  themselves  with  the  affairs  of  their 
neighbors.  It  was  unaccountable  to  her  how  the  num 
ber  of  another  woman's  dresses,  or  bonnets,  the  hours 
and  the  places  in  which  she  promenaded,  the  visitors 
she  had,  or  refused  to  have,  her  hours  for  rising,  eating, 
and  retiring,  or  the  exact  state  of  her  finances,  could 
be  matters  of  such  momentous  interest.  Living  con 
tentedly  in  a  world  of  her  own,  she  had  neither  time 
nor  inclination  for  such  petty  researches. 

A  month  had  elapsed  since  Rose's  sickness ;  she  was 
now  convalescent,  and  able  to  part  with  the  faithful 
Chloe,  who  claimed  the  privilege  of  calling  in  occasion 
ally  to  see  Massa  Charley.  Rose  was  again  alone — no, 
not  quite  alone,  for  Gertrude  had  made  her  acquaint 
ance,  to  explain  her  capture  of  Charley,  and  ask  the 
loan  of  him  till  the  picture  should  be  finished. 

Gertrude  was  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  Rose's  man 
ner  :  at  one  moment  frank  and  sisterly,  at  the  next 


ROSE     CLARK.  223 

cold,  silent,  and  repellant.  Rose  was  struggling  with 
two  contending  feelings ;  her  straightforward  ingenu 
ousness  made  her  shrink  from  the  idea  of  concealing 
from  one  of  her  own  sex,  who  thus  sought  her  acquaint 
ance,  her  real  history.  She  shrank  from  a  friendship 
based  on  deception. 

Simple,  straightforward  Rose !  as  if  half  the  friend 
ships  in  the  world  would  not  snap  in  twain,  placed  on 
any  other  basis !  If  each  heart,  with  its  disingenuous 
trickeries,  its  selfish  purposes  and  aims,  were  laid 
bare  to  its  neighbor,  if  the  real  motives  for  seeming 
kindness,  the  inner  life,  whose  pure  outward  seeming 
is  often  in  direct  inversion  to  the  hidden  corruption 
were  as  transparent  to  the  human  as  to  the  Omniscient 
eye,  who  could  stand  the  test  ? 

A  few  interviews  with  Gertrude  served  to  dispel,  in 
a  great  measure,  these  feelings.  Her  ready  tact,  and 
quick,  womanly  sympathies,  served  to  bridge  over  the 
chasm  to  Rose's  naturally  trusting  heart. 

Oh,  that  parting  with  the  life-boat  of  faith — that  un 
settled,  drifting,  sinking,  weary  feeling — that  turning 
away  even  from  the  substance,  for  fear  of  the  mocking 
shadow — that  heart-isolation  which  makes  a  desert  of 
the  green  earth,  with  all  its  fragrance,  and  music,  and 
sunshine — who  that  has  known  misfortune  has  not  de 
plored  it  ?  Who  has  not  striven  in  vain  to  get  an 
chored  back  again  where  never  a  ripple  of  distrust 
might  disturb  his  peace. 


224  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  Tell  me  how  you  like  it,"  said  Gertrude,  placing 
Charley's  finished  picture  in  the  most  favorable  light. 
"  Kow  don't  say  you  are  no  connoisseur,  that  is  only  a 
polite  way  of  declining  to  give  an  unfavorable  opinion. 
Find  all  the  fault  you  can  with  it ;  you  at  least  should 
know  if  it  is  true  to  life." 

"  It  is  perfect,"  said  Rose,  delightedly ;  "  it  is  Char 
ley's  own  self;  he  is  a  pretty  boy,"  said  the  proud 
mother,  looking  alternately  from  him  to  the  picture. 

"  You  must  remember,"  said  Gertrude,  "  that  of  all 
the  different  expressions  of  a  loved  face,  which  the 
heart  has  daguerreotyped,  the  artist  can  catch  but  one, 
and  that  one  may  not  always  be  to  friends  the  favorite 
expression  ;  hence  you  see,  with  all  our  good  intentions, 
the  craft  sometimes  labor  to  disadvantage.  However, 
I  seldom  paint  portraits ;  my  forte  is  c  still  life  ;'  so,  of 
course,"  she  added,  laughing ;  "  your  mercurial  little 
Charley  was  quite  out  of  my  orbit,  but  thanks  to  flow 
ers  and  lump-sugar,  I  think  I  may  say  there  is  his 
double." 

"  A  mother's  eye  sees  no  flaw  in  it,"  said  Rose. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Gertrude,  with  a  gratified  smile. 
"  It  has  already  found  a  purchaser.  A  gentleman  who 
was  in  my  studio  this  morning  thought  it  a  fancy 
sketch,  and  would  not  believe  me  when  I  told  him 
that  there  was  a  beautiful  living  type  ;  he  offered  me  a 
sum  for  it  that  would  at  one  time  have  made  my 
heart  leap  ;  I  can  afford  to  refuse  it  now." 


HOSE     CLARK.  225 

"  How  early  did  your  artistic  talent  develop  itself?" 
asked  Rose. 

"  I  was  always  fond  of  pictures,"  replied  Gertrude  ; 
"but  the  'talent'  which  prosperity  'folded  in  a  napkin,' 
the  rough  hand  of  adversity  shook  out." 

"Adversity?"  repeated  the  astonished  Rose,  look 
ing  at  Gertrude's  sunny  face. 

"  You  are  skeptical,"  said  Gertrude.  "  I  forgive 
you,  but  I  have  learned  not  to  wear  my  heart  dangling 
like  a  lady's  chatelaine  at  my  girdle,  to  be  plucked 
at  by  every  idle,  curious,  or  malicious  hand. 

"  Listen !"    And  she  drew  her  chair  nearer  to  Rose. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

GERTEUDE'S  STOEY. 

"  WHEN  I  was  about  fifteen,  I  lost  both  my  parents 
with  an  epidemic,  which  raged  in  the  neighborhood. 
Up  to  that  time,  I  had  known  poverty  and  sorrow 
only  through  an  occasional  novel,  which  fell  in  my 
way.  My  dear  father,  whose  silver  head  I  never  can 
think  of  without  involuntarily  and  reverentially  bow 
ing  my  own,  had  made  my  child-life  one  dream  of  de 
light.  I  felt  free  to  think  aloud  in  his  presence.  I 
feared  no  monastic  severity  at  my  childish  blunders,  or 
indiscretions ;  he  was  my  friend,  my  play-fellow,  as  well 
as  my  teacher  and  guardian. 

"  I  had  an  only  brother,  who  had  imbibed  an  uncon 
querable  passion  for  travel  and  adventure,  and  the  only 
mistake  my  father  ever  made  educationally,  was  shut 
ting  him  off  from  any  mention  of  the  subject.  He 
thought  himself  right  in  this,  and  meant  it  kindly; 
but  it  resulted  in  my  brother's  secretly  leaving  home 
in  disguise  for  a  foreign  port ;  he  has  never  since  been 
heard  from,  and  was  probably  lost  at  sea. 

"  Upon  the  death  of  my  parents  there  was  found 
nothing  left  for  my  support,  and  I  was  left  to  the  care 


ROSE     CLAEK.  227 

of  a  distant  relative.  It  was  an  unexpected  and  unwel 
come  legacy,  for  Mrs.  Bluff  had  five  children  of  her 
own,  and  though  in  comfortable  circumstances,  desired 
no  addition  to  her  family.  The  knowledge  of  this  ad 
ded  poignancy  to  the  grief  which  already  burdened  my 
heart.  Upon  entering  this  new  life,  I  made  many 
awkward  attempts,  with  my  city-bred  fingers,  to  pro 
pitiate  Mrs.  Bluff  on  such  occasions  as  baking-days, 
cleaning-days,  washing-days,  and  ironing-days.  Mrs. 
Bluff's  daughters  were  as  round  as  pumpkins,  and  as 
flaunting  as  sun-flowers ;  could  spin  and  weave,  and 
quilt,  and  bake,  and  brew,  and  had  the  reputation  of 
driving  the  best  bargain  at  the  village  store,  of  any 
customer  for  miles  round ;  they  pushed  me  this  way 
and  that,  laughed  at  my  small,  baby  hands  and  pale 
face,  wondered  where  I  had  been  brought  up  that 
I  never  saw  a  churn ;  '  swapped  off'  my  dear  books, 
my  only  comforts,  unknown  to  me,  to  a  traveling  ped 
dler  for  some  bright-red  ribbon,  and  voted  me  on  all 
occasions  a  most  useless  piece  of  furniture.  As  for  Mr. 
Bluff,  provided  his  horses,  hens,  cows,  pigs,  and  chick 
ens,  fulfilled  their  barn-yard  destiny,  and  Squire 
Tompkins's  rabbits  did  not  girdle  his  young  trees, 
and  his  mug  of  cider  was  ready  for  his  cobwebbed 
throat  as  soon  as  his  oxen's  horns  were  seen  turning 
down  the  lane,  the  world  might  turn  round  or  stand 
still. 

"  Every  effort  I  made  to  conciliate  the  Bluffs,  or  to 


228  EOSE     CLARK. 

render  myself  useful,  met  with  a  rude  rebuff.  I  could 
not  understand  it  then.  I  see  now  that  it  was  the 
rough  but  involuntary  tribute  which  uneducated  minds 
involuntarily  paid  to  a  more  refined  one.  Yet  why 
should  they  feel  thus  ?  If  I  could  have  taught  them 
many  things  I  had  learned  from  books,  they,  on  the 
other  hand,  could  have  initiated  me  into  the  practical 
duties  of  every-day  life,  without  a  knowledge  of  which 
any  woman  is  in  a  pitiable  state  of  helplessness,  for 
though  she  may  be  rich  enough  to  have  servants,  she 
is  yet  at  their  mercy,  for  if  she  chooses  to  order  a 
certain  pudding  for  dinner,  they  may  make  a  reply, 
which  her  ignorance  can  not  controvert,  as  to  the  time 
necessary  to  prepare  it,  or  the  quantity  of  ingredients, 
not  on  hand,  to  make  it. 

"Deprived  of  my  books,  my  mind  preyed  upon 
itself.  I  wandered  off,  in  my  leisure  hours,  in  the 
woods  and  fields,  and  built  such  air-castles  as  architects 
of  sixteen  are  apt  to  construct.  So  fond  I  became  of 
my  wood-rambles  in  all  weathers,  and  talking  to  my 
self  for  want  of  company,  that  an  old  lady  in  the 
village  asked  Mrs.  Bluff,  with  the  most  commiserating 
concern,  '  if  it  was  n't  a  heap  of  trouble  to  look  after 
that  crazy  critter  ?» 

"  I  had  been  at  Greytown  about  a  year  when  a  new 
pastor  was  settled  over  the  village  church.  It  was  an 
event  commensurate  with  the  taking  of  Sebastopol. 
There  was  not  an  un wedded  female  in  the  parish,  my 


HOSE     CLARK.  229 

cousins  included,  who  did  not  give  him  a  call  :«n  the 
most  unmistakable  manner.  What  with  utter  disgust 
at  these  open  advances,  and  renewed  signs  of  hostility 
on  the  part  of  my  cousins  since  his  advent,  I  resolved 
to  absent  myself  on  the  occasion  of  every  parochial 
call,  and  to  confine  my  eyes  to  the  pew  crickets  on 
Sunday. 

"  The  barriers  which  my  obstinacy  thus  built  up 
chance  threw  down.  City  bred  as  I  was,  I  had  an 
extraordinary  gift  at  climbing  trees  and  scaling  fences. 
In  one  of  my  rambles,  trusting  too  much  to  my  agile 
ankles,  when  climbing  over  a  stone  wall,  I  lost  my  foot 
hold,  and  was  precipitated  to  the  ground,  bringing 
down  a  large  stone  upon  my  foot.  The  pain  was  so 
great  that  I  fainted. 

"  When  I  came  to  myself,  the  minister  was  bathing 
my  face  with  some  water  he  had  brought  from  a  brook 
near  by.  I  roused  myself,  and  after  making  several 
ineffectual  attempts  to  bear  my  own  weight,  was 
obliged  to  accept  his  offered  arm.  I  was  vexed  to 
have  been  seen  in  so  awkward  a  predicament,  vexed 
that  the  dread  of  the  storm  that  was  sure  to  burst  on 
my  head  on  my  appearance  with  him  at  my  aunt's, 
should  render  me  incapable  of  even  the  most  common 
place  conversation.  For  some  reason  or  other,  he 
seemed  equally  embarrassed  with  myself,  and  I  shut 
myself  up  on  reaching  home,  to  give  full  vent  to  my 
mortification.  From  that  moment  I  endured  every 


230  BOSH     CLAEK. 

species  of  persecution  from  my  aunt  and  cousins,  who, 
with  their  scheming  eyes,  saw  in  it  only  a  well-planned 
stratagem,  and  drove  me  nearly  distracted  by  speaking 
of  it  in  that  light  to  those  who  would  be  sure  to  report 
it  to  the  party  most  concerned.  Whether  this  sug 
gested  thoughts  in  the  young  minister  he  would  not 
otherwise  have  entertained,  I  can  not  say — certain  it 
is,  that  he  very  soon  invited  me  to  become  mistress  of 
the  parsonage,  and  from  its  flowered  windows,  a  few 
weeks  after,  with  my  husband's  arm  about  me,  I  could 
smile  on  my  parishioners,  both  male  and  female. 

"  Never  was  a  wife  blessed  with  a  truer  heart  to  rest 
upon — never  was  a  wife  nearer  forgetting  that  happi 
ness  is  but  the  exception  in  this  world  of  change. 
What  is  this  modern  clamor  about  '  obedience'  in  the 
marriage  relation  ?  How  easy  to  '  obey'  when  the  heart 
can  not  yield  enough  to  the  loved  one?  Ah,  the 
chain  can  not  fret  when  it  hangs  so  lightly !  I  never 
heard  the  clanking  of  mine.  Oh,  the  deep,  unalloyed 
happiness  of  those  five  short  years !  I  look  back  upon 
it  from  this  distance  as  one  remembers  some  lovely 
scene  in  a  sunny,  far-off  land,  where  earth  and  heaven 
put  on  such  dazzling  glory  as  dimmed  the  eyes  forever 
after,  making  night's  leaden  pall  denser,  gloomier,  for 
the  brightness  which  had  gone  before.  These  are 
murmuring  words  ;  but  Rose,  if  you  ever  loved  deeply ; 
if,  after  drifting  about  alone  hi  a  stormy  sea  of  trouble, 
you  gained  some  gallant  vessel,  saw  the  port  of  peace 


ROSE     CLARK.  231 

in  sight,  and  then  were  again  shipwrecked  and  en 
gulfed — but  you  are  weak  yet,  dear  Rose  ;  I  should  not 
talk  to  you  thus,"  said  Gertrude,  observing  Hose's 
tears. 

"  It  eases  my  heart  sometimes  to  weep£  was  Rose's 
low  reply.  "  Go  on." 

"  I  left  the  roof  under  which  no  sound  of  discord 
was  ever  heard,  my  child  and  I.  The  world  is  full  of 
widows  and  orphans.  One  meets  their  sabled  forms 
at  every  step.  ~No  one  turns  to  look  at  them,  unless 
perhaps  some  tearful  one  at  whose  hearthstone  also 
death  has  been  busy.  And  so  we  passed  along,  won 
dering,  as  thousands  have  done  before  us,  as  thousands 
will  in  time  to  come,  how  the  sun  could  shine,  how 
the  birds  could  sing,  how  the  flowers  could  bloom, 
and  we  so  grief-stricken !  I  found  the  world  what  all 
find  it  who  need  it.  Why  weary  you  with  a  repetition 
of  its  repulses — of  my  humiliations,  and  struggles,  and 
vigils  ?  Years  of  privation  and  suffering  passed  over 
my  head. 

"  Amid  my  ceaseless  searches  for  employment  I  met 
a  Mr.  Stahle.  He  was  a  widower,  with  two  little  boys 
who  were  at  that  time  with  his  first  wife's  relatives. 
He  proposed  marriage  to  me.  My  heart  recoiled  at  the 
thought,  for  my  husband  was  ever  before  me.  I  told 
him  so,  but  still  he  urged  his  suit.  I  then  told  him  that 
I  feared  to  undertake  the  responsibilities  of  a  step 
mother.  He  replied  that  was  the  strongest  argu- 


232  ROSE     CLARK. 

ment  in  favor  of  my  fitness  for  the  office.  He  told  me 
that  my  child  should  be  to  him  dear  and  cherished  as 
his  own.  These  were  the  first  words  that  moved  me. 
For  my  child's  sake  should  not  I  accept  such  a  com 
fortable  home  ?  Often  he  had  been  sick  and  suffered 
for  medicines  not  within  my  means  to  procure  ;  was  I 
not  selfish  in  declining  ?  I  vacillated.  Stahle  saw  his 
advantage,  and  pursued  it.  A  promise  of  employment 
which  had  been  held  out  to  me  that  morning  failed. 
I  gave  a  reluctant  consent.  Mr.  Stahle's  delight 
was  unbounded ;  his  buoyant  spirits  oppressed  me ; 
his  protestations  of  love  and  fidelity  pained  me ;  I 
shrank  away  from  his  caresses,  and  when,  after  a  few 
days,  he,  fearful  of  a  change  in  my  resolution,  urged  a 
speedy  union,  I  told  him  that  the  marriage  must  not  be 
consummated — that  my  heart  was  in  my  husband's 
grave — that  I  could  not  love  him  as  I  saw  he  desired, 
and  that  our  union  under  such  circumstances  could 
never  be  a  happy  one. 

"  He  would  listen  to  no  argument ;  said  I  had  treated 
him  unkindly ;  that  my  promise  was  binding,  and 
that  I  could  not  in  honor  retract  it ;  that  he  did  not 
expect  me  to  love  him  as  he  loved  me,  and  that  if  I 
could  yield  him  no  warmer  feeling  than  friendship,  he 
would  rather  have  that  than  the  love  of  any  other 
Troman.  Perplexed,  wearied,  and  desponding,  I  ceased 
to  object  rather  than  consented,  while  Stahle  hurried 
the  preparations  for  our  union.  Worn  out  in  mind 


ROSE     CLAKK.  233 

and  body,  I  resigned  myself  as  in  a  sort  of  stupor, 
like  the  wretch  whom  drowsiness  overpowers  in  the 
midst  of  pathless  snows.  Oh,  had  I  but  then  woke  up 
to  the  consciousness  of  my  own  powers !  But  I  will 
not  anticipate. 

"Mr.  Stahle  took  a  house  much  larger  than  I 
thought  necessary,  for  he  had  only  a  limited  salary. 
I  begged  him  to  expend  nothing  in  show ;  that  if  his 
object  were  to  gratify  me,  I  cared  for  none  of  those 
things.  He  always  had  some  reason,  however,  which 
he  considered  plausible,  for  every  purchase  he  made ; 
and  skipped  from  room  to  room  with  the  glee  of  a 
child  in  possession  of  a  new  toy,  giving  orders  here 
and  there  for  the  arrangement  of  carpets,  furniture, 
and  curtains,  occasionally  referring  to  me.  On  such  oc 
casions  I 'would  answer  at  random,  memory  picturing 
another  home,  whose  every  nook  and  corner  was  cher 
ished  as  he  who  had  made  it  for  me  an  earthly 
heaven ! 

"  One  morning  early,  Stahle  came  to  my  lodgings  in 
great  haste,  saying,  4  Gertrude,  we  must  be  married 
immediately ;  this  very  morning ;  see  here,'  and  he 
drew  from  his  pocket  a  paper,  in  which  he  read: 
4  Married,  last  night,  by  Rev.  Dr.  Briggs,  Mrs.  Ger 
trude  Deane  to  John  II.  Stahle.' 

" '  Who  could  have  done  that  ?'  asked  I,  no  suspi 
cion  of  the  truth  crossing  my  mind? 

"  '  It  is  impossible  to  tell,'  replied  Mr  Stahle  ;  'at  all 


234  ROSE     CLARK. 

events,  there  is  only  one  course  for  us  to  pursue  ;  here 
is  the  marriage-license — the  clergyman  will  wait  upon 
us  in  fifteen  minutes.  Never  mind  your  dress,'  said  he, 
as  I  cast  my  eye  down  upon  my  sable  robes — (alas ! 
they  were  all  too  fitting) — '  you  always  look  pretty, 
Gertrude,'  and  he  took  my  hand  in  his  own,  which 
trembled  with  agitation. 

"  I  was  bewildered,  paralyzed ;  for  up  to  that  mo 
ment  I  had  hoped  for  some  unexpected  deliverance. 
I  was  hardly  conscious  during  the  ceremony.  I  re 
membered  the  face  of  my  child,  and  of  a  friend  who 
was  witness.  I  remember  Stahle's  convulsive  pressure 
of  my  arm  against  his  side.  I  remember  how  like  a 
knell  fell  these  words  upon  my  ear,  '  I  now  pronounce 
you  man  and  wife.'  I  remember  my  dread  of  the 
clergyman's  taking  leave  of  us ;  and  I  remember  that 
the  gleam  of  Stahle's  eye,  as  he  did  so,  made  me 
shiver. 

"  Stahle  was  mentally  infinitely  my  inferior  ;  still  I 
believed  him  a  conscientious  Christian.  Now  when  I 
look  back,  I  only  wonder  that  I  did  not  lose  my  faith 
in  the  very  belief  he  so  disgraced  by  his  professorship. 
His  external  religious  duties  were  most  punctiliously  per 
formed.  He  never  was  absent,  how  inclement  soever 
the  weather,  from  church  or  vestry-meeting ;  he  never, 
under  any  circumstances,  omitted  family  devotions; 
the  Bible  was  as  familiar  to  him  as  A,  B,  C,  and  as 
often  on  his  lips.  I  myself  was  religiously  inclined  ;  it 


ROSE     CLARK.  235 

was  this  alone  which  had  buoyed  me  up  when  wave 
after  wave  of  trouble  dashed  over  me.  I  had  thought 
sometimes  that  on  this  ground  we  could  meet,  if  on  no 
other.  This  alone  inspired  me  with  confidence  that 
his  promises  to  me  and  my  child  would  be  conscien 
tiously  kept. 

"  How  can  I  describe  to  you  my  gradual  waking  up 
from  this  delusion  ?  The  conviction  that  came  slowly 
— but  surely — that  he  was  a  hypocrite,  and  a  gross  sen 
sualist.  That  it  was  passion,  not  love,  which  he  felt  for 
me,  and  that  marriage  was  only  the  stepping-stone  to 
an  else  impossible  gratification. 

"  Now  I  understood  why  that,  which,  to  a  delicate 
mind,  would  have  been  an  insuperable  obstacle  to  our 
union,  was  but  a  straw  in  his  path.  It  was  not  the 
soul  of  which  he  desired  possession,  it  was  not  that 
which  he  craved  or  could  appreciate.  I  was  wild  with 
despair.  O,  the  creeping  horror  with  which  I  listened 
to  his  coming  footsteps  !  I  sprang  from  my  seat  when 
his  footfall  announced  his  approach — not  to  meet  him, 
as  a  wife  should  meet  her  husband,  as  I  in  happier  days 
had  met  Arthur — but  to  fly  from  him — to  throw  out 
my  arms  despairingly  for  help,  and  then  to  sink  back 
into  my  chair,  and  nerve  myself  with  a  calm  voice  and 
shrouded  eye  to  meet  his  unacceptable  caresses. 

"  O,  what  a  fate — and  for  me !  I  who  had  soared 
with  the  eagle,  to  burrow  with  the  mole ! 

"  How  aggravated  the  misery  that  one  must  bear 


236  ROSE     CLARK. 

alone!  My  perfect  self-control  could  not  be  pene 
trated  by  Stable's  imperfect  vision ; — to  Mm  my  disgust 
was  only  coyness,  and  served  but  as  fuel  to  the  flame. 
This  was  my  penance,  for  a  sin  against  God,  of  which 
every  woman  is  guilty  who  goes  from  the  altar  with 
perjured  lips.  But  alas !  little  by  little,  as  a  drop  of 
water  may  wear  away  the  stone,  had  poverty,  and  sor 
row,  and  discouragement  robbed  me  of  my  energy, 
and  made  me  the  helpless  tool  I  was.  Still  it  com 
forted  me  that  I  had  not  deceived  Stahle  ; — he  knew 
my  heart  was  not  his,  and  but  for  the  trick  to  which  I 
was  now  sure  his  fears  and  passion  had  alike  urged 
him  on  that  fatal  morning,  I  might  have  roused  my 
self  ere  too  late,  from  the  benumbing  spell  of  despair. 

"  Still,  before  God  I  resolved  conscientiously  to  per 
form  the  duties  I  had  assumed.  The  more  my  heart 
recoiled,  the  more  strict  was  my  outward  observance. 
I  patiently  repaired  the  dilapidations  of  Stahle's 
widower  wardrobe  ;  I  attended  to  his  minutest  wishes 
with  regard  to  the  management  of  his  household ;  I 
saw  that  his  favorite  dishes  were  set  before  him. 

"  Duty  in  place  of  Love  !  O,  the  difference  in  the 
two  watchwords !  The  irresistible  trumpet  tones  of 
the  two  combined ! 

"During  the  day,  the  labor  of  my  hands  served  as  an 
escape-valve  for  the  restlessness  of  my  heart ;  but  the 
evenings — the  long,  long  evenings ! — for  Stahle  never 
left  my  side.  I  proposed  his  reading  to  me,  as  a  re- 


HOSE     CLARK.  237 

prieve  from  his  caresses.  I  did  not  care  what,  so  that 
his  arms  were  not  round  my  waist,  or  his  lip  near  mine. 
The  plan  succeeded  but  very  indifferently  ;  the  books 
which  I  had  on  hand  were  not  suited  to  his  under 
standing,  or  his  taste.  I  then  procured  some  novels, 
involved  him  hi  tracing  the  fates  of  distressed  lovers 
and  their  adjuncts,  and  succeeded  better ;  not  but  that 
even  then  there  were  occasional  parantheses  which 
recalled  me  from  the  dream-land  into  which  I  had 
wandered  away  from  the  book  and  its  reader,  while 
employed  with  my  needle.  This  reading  also  served 
as  a  pretext  for  lengthening  the  evenings — which,  par 
adoxical  as  it  may  appear,  was  very  desirable  to  me. 

"  I  have  said  Stahle  had  two  absent  children.  I  had 
urged  him  ever  since  our  marriage  to  bring  them 
home.  His  reply  always  was :  i  I  can  not  leave  you 
yet,  Gertrude,  to  go  for  them.'  I  urged  their  sep 
aration  from  him,  and  the  necessity  that  probably 
existed  for  those  who  had  passed  through  so  many 
different  hands,  of  some  system,  as  to  their  govern 
ment  and  education.  He  seemed  quite  insensible  to 
these  appeals,  having  only  one  thought,  that  of  leaving 
me,  although  the  journey  required  but  one  day. 

"  I  am,  as  you  have  seen,  Rose,  very  fond  of  chil 
dren.  I  determined,  God  helping  me,  to  fulfill  my 
duty  to  the  utmost  in  regard  to  his.  I  hoped  to  make 
this  a  pleasant  duty. 

"  It  was  evening.    I  was  alone ;  a  cheerful  fire  blazed 


238  ROSE     CLARK. 

upon  the  hearth ;  the  tea-table  was  spread,  the  lamps 
lighted,  and  my  little  Arthur  was  amusing  himself 
making  rabbits  with  his  fingers  upon  the  walls.  I  sat  in 
my  little  rocking-chair  thinking.  It  was  so  blessed  to 
be  again  alone  with  only  my  little  Arthur.  Lip,  eye, 
and  brow  to  be  out  of  school !  True,  my  bill  of  sale 
every  where  met  my  eye ;  the  roof  over  my  head  was 
his — I  could  not  say  ours. 

•  "  Hark ! — away  with  such  thoughts — that  step  was 
Stahle's !  He  had  returned  from  his  day's  journey. 
He  came  in,  leading  by  the  hand  two  little  boys.  My 
heart  warmed  toward  the  motherless  ;  these  little  ones, 
still  clad  in  the  badge  of  mourning  for  her  whose  loss, 
with  my  best  efforts,  I  could  never  hope  to  repair ; — 
these  little  ones,  looking  wonderingly  about  them, 
in  their  meek  helplessness,  at  the  strange  aspect  of 
every  thing !  It  was  to  me  an  inexpressibly  touching 
sight.  Before  I  could  caress  them,  Stahle  stepped  be 
tween  us,  and  threw  his  arms  passionately  about  me. 
It  was  so  like  him,  that  mistake.  The  children  felt 
supplanted,  cast  frightened  glances  at  me,  and  nestled 
closer  to  each  other.  I  lost  not  a  moment  in  disengag 
ing  myself  from  Stahle,  and  took  them  both  in  my 
lap. 

"Fragile  little  things  they  were.  They  had  out 
grown  their  scanty  garments,  the  brush  had  not 
brought  out  the  gloss  on  their  silky  locks,  their 
little  finger-nails  were  all  untrimmed,  their  flesh  out 


ROSE     CLAKK.  239 

of  sight  not  scrupulously  clean  ;  in  short,  they  looked 
as  childhood  ever  looks  when  the  watchful  eye  and 
busy  hand  of  the  mother  is  cold  in  death. 

"  We  soon  became  friends.  The  searching  glances 
they  bent  on  me,  in  which  I  felt  they  were,  to  the 
best  of  their  childish  ability,  taking  my  measure,  I 
returned  with  looks  of  heartfelt  pity  and  love. 

"  The  next  day,  and  many  succeeding  days,  I  busied 
myself  in  supplying  their  wardrobe.  I  had  a  natural 
skill  in  cutting  and  making  children's  garments,  which, 
in  my  search  for  employment,  I  had  sometimes  hoped 
to  turn  to  account,  and  which  rendered  it  a  matter  of 
little  expense  to  Stahle.  This  was  a  great  gratification 
to  me  ;  it  seemed  to  me  to  repay,  in  some  sort,  an  irk 
some  obligation.  I  worked  diligently  and  assiduously, 
and  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  Stahle  say  that  c  he 
had  not  thought  his  children  were  so  pretty ;'  and  yet 
I  expended  nothing  in  ornament,  so  unnecessary  on 
childhood  ;  but  their  limbs  had  free  play  in  their 
clothes ;  the  colors  of  which  their  dresses  were  com 
posed  were  suited  to  their  complexions ;  their  feet 
were  not  compressed  with  tight  shoes ;  their  hair  was 
nicely  kept,  and  they  gradually  lost  that  shy,  startled 
look  which  so  distressed  me  when  they  first  came. 

"  I  taught  Authur  to  yield  his  natural  rights  in  his 
own  property  to  them.  It  was  a  lesson  I  was  desirous 
early  to  teach  him,  who  was  in  danger  of  becoming 
selfish  from  always  having  played  alone. 


240  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  Children  have  quick  instincts.  Little  Edgar  and 
Harry  soon  learned  to  love  me,  whom  they  knew  to  be 
their  friend;  they  would  put  their  arms  about  my 
neck,  and  call  me  '  dear  mother.'  This  troubled  me ; 
it  seemed  as  if  it  must  pain  Tier.  I  never  taught  them 
to  call  me  so.  I  never  taught  my  child  to  call  Stahle 
father.  It  seemed  to  me  this  should  not  be  forced, 
but  should  flow  out  spontaneously ;  even  then  I 
almost  shrank  from  accepting  the  sacred  appellation. 
I  talked  to  them  often  of  their  own  mother,  lest  years 
should  efface  the  indistinct  recollections  of  infancy.  I 
learned  from  their  childish  prattle,  that  she  was  'al 
ways  sick.'  I  could  readily  believe  it,  for  they  had 
inherited  her  fragility ;  also  that  she  '  taught  them  a 
little  prayer,'  which  they  'could  not  remember,' 
though  I  repeated  several  which  childhood  oftenest 
lisps. 

"  They  said  mother's  hair  was  not  curly,  like  mine, 
and  that  she  was  *  ever  so  much  little-er' ;  and  that 
she  coughed  very  bad,  and  could  not  play  with  them 
much.  Consumption  then  was  the  enemy  I  was  to 
ward  off;  so  I  protected  their  little  lungs  with  flannel. 
I  dressed  them  warmly,  and  then  tried  to  inure  them 
to  all  weathers,  as  I  had  always  done  my  own 
child. 

"  I  found  a  sort  of  quiet  happiness  in  thus  attempting 
to  perform  my  duty,  for  I  really  loved  the  children, 
who  were  quite  as  good  as  they  could  be,  after  having 


ROSE     CLARK.  241 

passed  through  so  many  different  hands.  We  had 
been  some  time  married  when  all  the  little  ones  were 
seized  with  scarlatina,  and  after  a  painful  prostration 
by  it,  and  a  partial  convalescence,  the  doctor  advised  a 
change  of  air,  and  we  accordingly  commenced  all 
needful  preparations  for  the  journey. 

"  Up  to  this  tune  I  had  not  been  into  public  with 
Stable;  even  in  my  first  married  life  I  had  never 
done  this,  (why  should  I  have  done  so  when  home  was 
Paradise?)  and  now — what  availed  change  of  place, 
when,  go  where  I  might,  the  arrow  was  still  quivering 
in  my  heart  ? 

"Occasionally  we  had  callers,  business  friends  of 
Stable's,  to  whom  he  requested  me  to  be,  and  to  whom 
I  was,  punctiliously  civil.  ** 

"But  we  were  now  to  move  out  of  this  orbit  into  a 
wider  one ;  we  were  to  meet  more  than  one  class  of 
persons,  for  the  facilities  of  travel  have  made  north 
and  south,  east  and  west,  mere  nominal  terms. 

"  One  day,  on  our  journey,  I  took  my  seat  at  a  pub 
lic  dinner-table  with  Stahle.  Some  gentlemen  were 
already  seated,  and  engaged  in  conversation.  As  we 
entered,  one  of  them  glancing  at  us,  said  to  his  com 
panion,  '  Look  there,  Howard,  how  in  the  name  of 

did  such  a  fellow,'  nodding  at  Stahle,  l  get  such  a  fine- 
looking  woman  as  that  for  a  wife  ?' 

"  Stahle  overheard  it ;  his  lips  were  livid  with  sup 
pressed  rage,  while  in  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  keep 

11 


242  ROSE     CLAKK. 

the  tell-tale  blood  from  my  face,  it  was  quite  crim 
soned.  From  that  moment  he  became  changed ;  for 
the  first  time  the  disparity  between  us  seemed  to 
dawn  upon  him.  He  thought  every  body  else  was 
looking  at  us  through  the  same  pair  of  spectacles. 
He  grew  moody,  silent,  and  abstracted ;  was  ever  on 
the  alert  when  we  were  in  company,  overhearing  every 
word,  watching  every  look,  noticing  every  motion, 
magnifying  every  thing  into  an  affront  to  him,  or  an 
overture  to  me. 

"  I  have  not  described  Stahle's  physique  to  you.  He 
was  under-sized,  with  a  pale  complexion,  and  light 
brown  beard.  He  wore  his  hair  long,  and  parted  on 
the  left  temple,  its  sleek,  shining  look,  giving  him  a 
meek  appearance ;  his  lips  were  thin,  and,  in  a  woman, 
would  have  been  called  shrewish  ;  this  tell-tale  feature 
he  dexterously  concealed  with  his  beard.  I  have  never 
seen  such  a  mouth  since,  that  I  have  not  shuddered  ; 
his  eyes  were  a  pale  gray,  and  were  always  averted  in 
talking,  as  if  he  feared  his  secret  thoughts  might  shine 
through  them.  He  appeared  to  great  disadvantage  in 
company,  both  from  his  inferior  personal  appearance 
and  his  total  inability  to  sustain  a  conversation  on  any 
subject.  Of  this  he  seemed  to  be  unaware  until  we 
appeared  in  company  together.  I  soon  found  that  the 
monosyllabic  system  to  which  he  was  necessarily  con 
fined,  it  would  be  necessary  for  me  also  to  adopt, 
when  addressed.  This,  apart  from  the  tyranny  which 


ROSE     CLAEK.  243 

prompted  it,  was  no  trial  to  me,  for  I  never  liked  going 
into  company,  and  never  was  at  a  party  which  paid  me 
for  the  bore  of  dressing. 

"  Of  course  I  saw  all  these  things  as  though  I  saw 
them  not.  I  was  perfectly  aware  of  my  position,  and  I 
resolved,  under  all  circumstances,  to  control  myself, 
and  never  descend,  whatever  might  transpire,  to  a  war 
of  words.  I  appeared  in  public  as  seldom  as  possible, 
lest  Stahle  should  find  cause  of  offense.  I  was  as  scru 
pulously  attentive  to  him  and  his  interests  as  if  I  did 
not  know  that  my  best  endeavors  would  now  be  mis 
construed.  I  felt  no  faltering  in  my  desire  to  make  his 
innocent  children  happy  and  comfortable.  I  spoke  to 
no  one  of  my  discomfort.  I  said  to  myself,  I  have 
made  a  great  mistake,  and  must  bear  the  consequences 
with  what  fortitude  I  may. 

"  I  little  knew  the  deadly  malignity  of  Stahle's  dis 
position.  I  little  knew  the  penalty  I  was  to  pay  for  the 
difference  which  nature  and  education  had  made  be 
tween  us. 

"  One  day  Stahle  came  home  looking  unusually 
moody  and  sullen.  He  found  his  dinner  nicely  pre 
pared,  and  the  children  neatly  washed  and  dressed. 
The  parlor  was  tidy,  I  was  courteous ;  there  was  noth 
ing  to  find  fault  with,  nothing  to  irritate,  not  the  most 
slender  foundation  for  a  quarrel. 

"  Stahle  saw  this — he  could  have  wished  it  were 
otherwise.  He  was  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed.  After 


244  HOSE     CLAEK 

taking  one  or  two  turns  across  the  room,  he  said,  '  Ger 
trude,  I  want  ah1  the  children's  clothes  packed  in  a 
trunk,  and  ready  by  noon  to-morrow.' 

"  '  The  children,'  asked  I,  in  surprise,  '  are  you  going 
to  send  the  children  away  ?  Where  are  they  going  ?' 

"  '  That 's  my  affair,'  he  rudely  answered. 

"I  asked  no  questions;  I  simply  said  c  The  trunk  shall 
be  ready,'  and  went  on  with  my  sewing.  I  did  not  know 
then  as  I  do  now,  that  it  was  the  first  of  a  projected 
and  deliberate  series  of  attempts  to  injure  me,  by  creat 
ing  the  impression  that  the  children  were  not  well  cared 
for.  He  could  not  well  have  wounded  me  more  deeply. 
I — who  had  so  conscientiously  striven  to  perform  my 
duty  to  the  motherless.  I — who,  when  any  little  ques 
tion  between  the  children  was  to  be  decided,  gave  the 
preference  to  his  children,  lest  I  might  wrong  them 
even  in  a  trifle — those  '  trifles,'  which,  to  childhood  are 
matters  of  as  grave  importance  as  our  adult  affairs. 

"  The  cunning  malignity  of  this  act  was  worthy  of 
Stahle.  I  made  no  complaint,  I  asked  the  children  no 
question  which  I  was  too  proud  to  ask  the  father.  The 
little  trunk  was  packed,  and  Stahle  remarking  that  he 
should  be  gone  two  days,  the  carriage  drove  off.  It 
was  some  comfort  that  the  children  ran  up  to  me,  and 
put  up  their  lips  spontaneously  for  a  kiss,  as  they  were 
leaving ;  it  was  more  still  that  my  conscience  acquitted 
me  before  God  of  any  intentional  sin  of  omission  to 
ward  them. 


HOSE    CLARK.  245 

"  I  had  just  begun  to  see  the  good  effect  of  system 
atic  training  on  natures  sweet  and  good,  though  neg 
lected  and  misdirected.  Their  wardrobes  were  amply 
supplied,  the  books  purchased  to  teach  them — and  now 
— well,  I  bore  the  cross  uncomplainingly  at  least,  and 
when  Stahle  returned,  no  trace  of  what  had  occurred 
was  perceptible  in  my  manner,  or  habits.  He  was  evi 
dently  as  much  at  a  loss  to  understand  my  self-control, 
as  to  cope  with  it.  He  had  expected  a  scene — an  out 
burst  of  indignant  feeling — an  angry  altercation  in 
which  his  nature  might  vent  itself  in  a  brutal  reply, 
He  judged  me  by  the  women  whom  he  had  all  his  life 
known.  He  was  at  fault. 

"  His  next  step  was  to  break  up  housekeeping  and 
board  out;  for  this  also,  he  gave  me  no  reason.  Whole 
days  he  passed  without  speaking  to  me,  and  yet,  at  the 
same  time,  no  inmate  of  a  harem  was  ever  more  slav 
ishly  subject  to  the  gross  appetite  of  her  master.  It 
was  now  midwinter;  I  had  a  bad  cough,  and  was 
suffering  from,  want  of  flannels  and  thick  under-clothes ; 
he  furnished  me  with  no  funds  for  the  purpose.  This 
was  to  compel  me  to  do  what  would  give  him  some 
advantage  over  me — run  in  debt.  I  foresaw  this,  and 
avoided  it,  confining  myself  to  my  insufficient  clothing. 

"  Stahle  always  selected  a  boarding-house  for  our 
residence,  the  mistress  of  which  was  her  own  mis 
tress — (i.  e.,  a  widow  or  a  single  woman).  Imme 
diately  upon  going  to  such  a  house,  a  private  ua« 


246  EOSE     CLARK. 

derstanding  sprung  up  between  Stable  and  herself, 
and  the  servants  taking  their  cue  from  their  mis 
tress,  I  found  it  quite  impossible  to  get  any  thing  I 
wanted.  This  was  less  of  a  trial  to  me  than  it  might 
have  been,  had  I  not  been  accustomed  to  wait  upon 
myself;  but  one  is  necessarily  circumscribed  in  a 
boarding-house ;  the  cellar  may  not  be  visited  for 
coal,  or  the  kitchen  for  water,  if  the  landlady  does  not 
see  fit  to  have  the  bells  answered;  neither,  if  she 
chooses  to  decree  otherwise,  and  your  husband  is  in 
the  conspiracy,  can  you  be  waited  on  at  the  table  till 
every  one  else  has  been  served.  Stahle  often  finished 
his  dinner  and  rose  from  the  table  while  my  plate  an<3 
Arthur's,  had  not  been  once  filled.  He  studiously  in 
sulted  me  by  this  public  neglect,  and  to  make  it  still 
more  marked,  helped  every  one  else,  even  the  men, 
within  reach.  Of  this,  also,  I  took  no  outward  notice. 
"  One  day  the  landlady  came  to  me  with  a  manner 
so  bland  that  I  was  instantly  on  my  guard.  She  com 
plimented  my  hair,  my  figure,  my  manners.  She  won 
dered  I  never  came  down  out  of  my  room  into  the 
public  parlor.  She  intimated  that  the  gentlemen  were 
very  desirous  of  making  my  acquaintance,  particularly 
one,  by  the  name  of  Yoom — with  whom,  by  the  way,  I 
had  seen  Stahle  leave  the  house,  arm  in  arm.  I  saw 
through  the  plot  at  once — but  received  it  as  if  I  did 
not,  treated  her  just  as  civilly  as  if  she  were  not  a 
female  Judas,  and  resolutely  kept  my  own  apartment. 


ROSE     CLAKK.  24^ 

To  show  you  the  pettiness  of  Stahle's  revenge,  I  will 
mention  one  or  two  incidents  : 

"  One  evening,  while  walking  my  room,  a  needle 
penetrated  the  thin  sole  of  my  slipper,  and  was  at  once 
half  buried  in  my  foot.  Three  tunes,  with  all  my 
strength,  I  tried  to  extricate  it ;  the  fourth,  and  I  was 
still  unsuccessful ;  both  strength  and  courage  now  failed 
me.  Stahle,  from  the  other  side  of  the  room,  looked 
coolly  on,  and,  with  a  Satanic  smile,  said,  *  Why  don't 
you  pull  again  ?>  With  the  courage  inspired  by  this 
brutal  question,  I  seized  the  protruding  point  of  the 
needle  with  my  trembling  fingers,  and  finally  succeeded 
in  withdrawing  it. 

"  That  evening  sharp  pains  commenced  shooting 
through  my  foot,  extending  quite  to  my  side.  I  be 
gan  to  grow  uneasy  as  they  increased,  and  requested 
Stahle  to  send  for  the  doctor.  This  he  peremptorily 
refused  to  do.  I  waited  a  while  longer,  my  limb  in 
the  mean  time  growing  more  and  more  painful.  Again 
I  requested  Stahle  to  go  for  the  doctor,  or  I  should  be 
obliged  to  send  some  one.  At  this  he  put  on  his  hat 
and  coat,  and  went  out.  After  a  prolonged  absence 
he  returned,  not  with  a  doctor,  but  a  bottle  of  leeches, 
which  he  said  '  had  been  ordered,'  and  set  down  the 
bottle  containing  them  on  a  table  at  the  further  end  of 
the  room. 

"  It  had  become  by  that  time  quite  difficult  for  me 
to  step,  as  the  needle  had  penetrated  the  sole  of  my 


248  ROSE     CLARK. 

foot ;  but,  by  the  help  of  chairs,  I  pushed  myself  along 
until  I  reached  the  bottle. 

"  I  am.  not  given  to  faintings  or  womanish  fears,  but 
from  my  childhood  I  have  had  a  shuddering  horror  of 
any  thing  like  a  snake  ;  so  unconquerable  was  this  aver 
sion,  that  I  was  forced  to  date  it  back  prior  to  my  birth. 

"  Stahle  was  aware  of  this  weakness,  and  as,  with  a 
strong  effort  at  self-command,  I  took  up  the  bottle  and 
then  set  it  down  again  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror  at  the 
squirming  inmates,  he  laughed  derisively.  That  laugh 
nerved  me  with  new  strength.  I  uncorked  the  bottle, 
holding  its  mouth  close  to  my  foot,  that  the  leeches  might 
fasten  on  it,  without  my  touching  them  with  my  fingers. 

"As  the  first  one  greedily  struck  at  my  foot,  I 
fainted.  The  effort  at  self-control  in  my  ne'rvous,  ex 
cited  state,  was  too  much  for  me. 

"  When  I  recovered,  the  broken  bottle  lay  upon  the 
floor,  the  leeches  had  disappeared,  save  the  one  which 
had  fastened  upon  my  foot,  and  Stahle  had  gone  to  bed. 

"  Not  long  after  this,  unable  to  go  out  myself,  I  sent 
my  little  Arthur  of  a  necessary  errand.  He  had  at 
tended  to  it  successfully,  and  was  returning,  when  a  gig, 
furiously  driven  by  two  young  men,  turned  rapidly  a 
street-corner,  ran  against  and  prostrated  him.  Arthur 
was  a  very  spirited  little  fellow,  and,  beside,  had  much  of 
'tfie  Spartan  in  his  temperament.  A  policeman  who 
*aw  the  transaction,  stepped  up  and  raised  him  upon  his 
feet,  the  brave  child  stoutly  maintaining  that  he  was 


ROSE     CLAEK.  249 

not  much  hurt.'  With  all  this  bravery,  Arthur  was  also 
shy  and  sensitive,  and  the  gathering  crowd  and  the  imme 
diate  proximity  of  the  policeman  annoyed  and  mortified 
him.  The  policeman,  however,  true  to  his  duty,  would 
not  leave  him,  and  Arthur,  whose  love  to  me  no 
thought  of  self  could  ever  obliterate,  gave  him  the 
number  of  Stahle's  place  of 'business  instead  of  our  resi 
dence,  lest  I  should  be  distressed  or  frightened  in  my 
invalid  state  by  their  sudden  appearance. 

"  The  policeman  accordingly  left  him  there,  satisfied 
that  he  would  be  kindly  cared  for  by  a  father.  After 
he  had  gone,  Stahle  put  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and,  surveying  my  boy  a  moment, 
said,  '  Well,  sir,  go  home  to  your  mother.' 

"  Child  as  he  was,  he  would  have  died  rather  than 
ask  for  the  conveyance  which  he  so  much  needed,  or 
even  for  Stahle's  helping  hand  on  the  way — for  it  was 
a  long  distance  to  our  lodgings — and  Stahle  saw  him 
limp  out  without  offering  either. 

"  The  door  opened,  and  with  white  lips  my  brave  boy 
staggered  into  the  room,  and  briefly  narrated  his  mis 
fortune,  still  persisting,  though  the  pain  was  even  then 
forcing  tears  from  his  eyes,  that  he  was  c  not  hurt.'  I 
took  off  his  clothes,  and  found  his  side  already  quite 
black  with  the  bruise  he  had  received,  and  so  sore  that, 
though  he  still  refrained  from  complaining,  he  winced 
at  the  lightest  touch  of  my  finger. 

"  I  had  not  a  cent  in  my  possession.    I  had  not  had 
11* 


250  HOSE     OLA  EX. 

for  a  long  time,  for  I  never  had  asked  Stable  for 
money.  This  Stahle  knew,  and  that  day  and  night, 
and  half  of  the  following  day  he  purposely  absented 
himself,  leaving  me  to  get  along  in  these  circumstances 
as  best  I  could  with  the  child.  On  his  return  he  asked 
no  questions  and  took  no  notice  of  the  occurrence,  al 
though  Arthur  was  still  a  prisoner  to  the  sofa.  Not  a 
word  passed  my  lips  either  on  the  subject,  though  this, 
to  my  maternal  heart,  had  been  the  heaviest  trial  it  had 
yet  been  called  to  bear. 

"  Time  passed  on,  and  Arthur  had  become  convales 
cent.  I  was  now  so  extremely  nervous  from  mental 
suffering,  that  I  found  it  impossible  to  sleep  unless  I 
first  wearied  myself  with  out-door  exercise. 

"  Tying  on  my  bonnet,  I  went  out  one  afternoon  for 
thLs  purpose.  The  noise  and  whirl  of  the  street  was 
an  untold  relief  to  me. 

"  Motion — motion — when  the  brain  reels,  and  de 
spair  tugs  at  ihe  heart-strings  ! 

"  On  my  return  I  was  not  obliged  to  ring  at  the  front 
door,  as  some  persons  were  standing  upon  the  steps 
talking ;  I  passed  them  and  my  light  footfall  on  the 
carpet,  being  noiseless,  I  entered  the  door  of  my  room 
'unheralded. 

"  Judge  of  my  astonishment  when  I  saw  Stahle  stand 
ing  with  his  back  to  me,  quite  unaware  of  my  pres 
ence,  inspecting  (by  means  of  false  keys)  the  contents 
of  my  private  writing-desk!  opening  my  husband's 


ROSE     CLAKK.  251 

letters,  sacred  to  me  as  the  memory  of  his  love ;  read- 
ing  others  from  valued  friends,  received  before  my 
marriage  with  Stahle — not  one  of  which,  for  any  stain 
they  cast  on  me,  might  not  have  been  bared  to  the 
wrorld's  censorious  eye. 

"  He  then  took  up  my  husband's  miniature — O,  how 
unlike  the  craven  face  which  bent  over  it !  At  last,  I 
was  choking  with  passion ;  this  was  the  brimming  drop 
in  my  cup ;  you  might  have  known  it  by  the  low,  calm 
tone  with  which  I  almost  whispered  as  I  laid  my  trem 
bling  hand  on  my  treasures — 'these  are  mine  not 
yours — " 

"  They  were  the  only  words  which  escaped  my  lips, 
but  there  must  have  been  something  in  the  tone  and 
in  my  face,  before  wrhich  his  spirit  cowered.  He  made 
no  attempt  to  resist  me  as  I  took  possession  of  them, 
but  turning  doggedly  on  his  heel,  muttered :  '  the  law 
says  you  can  have  nothing  that  is  not  mine.'  O,  how 
many  crushed  and  bleeding  hearts  all  over  our  land 
can  endorse  the  truth  of  this  brutal  answer. 

"  Stahle  began  now  to  spend  his  nights  away  from 
home ;  I  had  never  yet  made  a  complaint  or  remon 
strance  except  in  the  case  just  stated.  I  did  not  now. 
If  it  was  his  purpose  with  his  usual  want  of  insight 
into  my  character,  to  give  me  a  long  cord  with  which 
to  hang  myself,  it  failed,  for  my  boy  and  I  slumbered 
innocently  and  peacefully. 

"  You  may  ask  why,  with  these  feelings  toward  me, 


252  ROSE     CLAKK. 

he  did  not  desert  me ;  for  two  reasons.  1st.  He  had  a 
religious  character  to  sustain  ;  during  all  this  time  he 
was  more  constant  than  ever,  if  that  were  possible,  at 
every  church  and  vestry-meeting,  often  taking  part  in 
the  exercises,  and  always  out-singing  and  out-praying 
every  other  church-member.  2d.  It  was  his  expecta 
tion  by  these  continuous  private  indignities,  which 
many  a  wife  suffers  in  silence,  to  force  me  to  leave 
him,  and  thus  preserve  his  pietistic  reputation  untar 
nished.  All  these  plans,  which  I  perfectly  understood, 
failed.  He  could  find  nothing  upon  which  to  sustain 
a  charge  against  me,  either  in  my  daily  conduct,  or  in 
my  private  correspondence,  dated,  long  years  before 
he  knew  me,  but  which  the  law  allowed  him  to  inspect. 

"  I  contracted  no  debts  because  he  would  not  supply 
my  necessary  wants.  I  took  no  advantage  of  his  absence 
from  home  to  forfeit  my  own  self-respect.  What  was  to 
be  done  ?  He  must  move  cautiously,  for  the  mainten 
ance  of  a  religious  character  was  his  stock  in  trade. 

"Returning  from  a  walk  one  day  with  my  little 
Arthur,  I  found  a  note  on  my  table  from  Stahle,  say 
ing  c  that  he  had  suddenly  been  called  South  on  busi 
ness,  and  should  remain  a  few  days.*  I  have  never 
seen  him  since.  Not  that  I  did  not  hear  from  him,  for 
the  plan  was  legally  concocted.  Letters  were  written 
to  me  by  him,  saying  'that  he  was  searching  for  a 
good  business-situation,  and  would  send  for  me  when 
he  found  it.'  Sending  for  me  to  join  him,  but  making 


BOSE     CLAEK.  253 

no  mention  of  my  boy.  Sending  for  me  to  come  hun 
dreds  of  miles  away  under  the  escort  of  his  brother, 
whom  I  had  ascertained  to  have  uttered  the  foulest 
slanders  about  me  (and  who  was  to  be  my  protector 
and  purser  on  the  occasion).  Every  letter  was  legally 
worded ;  '  my  dear  Gertrude'  was  at  the  top  of  the 
letter,  and  '  your  affectionate  husband'  at  the  bottom. 
They  were  always  delivered  to  me  by  two  witnesses, 
that  I  might  not  dodge  having  received  them.  And 
yet  each  one,  though  without  a  flaw  in  the  eye  of  the 
law,  was  so  managed  as  to  render  compliance  with  it 
impossible,  had  I  desired  to  rejoin  a  man  who  had 
done,  and  was  still  covertly  doing,  all  in  his  power 
to  injure  my  good  name.  In  the  meanwhile,  what 
he  dared  not  do  openly,  he  did  by  the  underground 
railroad  of  slander ;  insinuations  were  made  by  those  in 
his  employ ;  eyebrows  were  raised,  shoulders  were 
shrugged,  hints  thrown  out  that  my  extravagance  had 
rendered  it  necessary  for  him  to  leave  me.  (I,  who  had 
never  asked  for  a  cent  since  our  marriage,  whose 
nimble  needle  had  replenished  his  own  and  his  chil 
dren's  dilapidated  wardrobes.) 

"  Men  stared  insolently  at  me  in  the  street ;  women 
cast  self-righteous  scornful  glances ;  c  friends'  worse  than 
foes, were  emboldened  by  his  villainy  to  subject  them 
selves  to  a  withering  repulse  from  her  who  sought  to 
earn  her  honest  bread. 

"Did  I  go  out  in  search  of  employment — I  was 


254  KOSE     CLAKK. 

4  parading  to  show  myself.'  Did  I  stay  within  doors — 
*  there  was  no  doubt  a  good  reason  why  I  dared  not 
go  out.'  Did  I  keep  my  own  and  my  boy's  small 
stock  of  clothing  whole,  tidy,  and  neat — '  they  would 
like  to  know  who  kept  me  in  clothes  now." 

"  Surely,"  said  Hose,  interrupting  her,  "  surely,  dear 
Gertrude,  there  must  have  been  those  who  knew,  and 
could  bear  witness,  that  you  were  good  and  innocent." 

"  True,"  answered  Gertrude,  "  there  were  those  who 
could  do  so,  but  admitting  this  fact,  what  plausible  ex 
cuse  could  they  make  for  not  being  my  helpers  and  de 
fenders  on  all  needful  occasions  ?  ISTo,  dear  Rose,  the 
world  is  a  selfish  one,  and  degrading  as  it  is  to  human 
nature  to  assert  it,  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that  there  are 
many,  like  those  summer  friends  of  mine,  who  would 
stand  by  with  dumb  lips  and  see  the  slanderer  distill, 
drop  by  drop,  his  poison  into  the  life-blood  of  his  vic 
tim,  rather  than  bring  forward,  at  some  probable  cost 
to  themselves,  the  antidote  of  truth  in  their  possession. 
Even  blood  relations  have  been  known  to  circulate 
what  they  knew  to  be  a  slander  to  cover  their  parsi 
mony.  And  those  people,  who  are  the  most  greedy 
listeners  to  the  slanderer's  racy  tale,  are  the  people 
who  "  never  meddle  in  such  things,"  when  called  upon 
to  refute  it. 

"  Did  these  bitter  taunts  crush  me  ?  "Was  I  to  be 
come,  through  despair,  the  vile  thing  Stahlo  and  his 
agents  wished  ? 


ROSE     CLARK.  255 

"  No !  The  nights  I  walked  my  chamber-floor, 
with  my  finger-nails  piercing  my  clinched  palms  till 
the  blood  came,  were  not  without  their  use.  I 
weighed  every  faculty  God  had  given  me,  measured 
every  power,  with  a  view  to  its  marketable  use.  I 
found  one  yet  untried.  I  seized  my  pencil,  and  I 
triumphed  even  with  the  blood-hounds  on  my  track, 
for  God  helped  the  innocent." 

"  Oh,  teach  me  that,  strong-hearted,  noble  Ger 
trude,  teach  me  that!  for  I  have  no  stay  this  side 
Heaven !"  and,  with  sobbing  utterance,  Rose  poured 
into  Gertrude's  sympathizing  heart  the  checkered 
story  of  her  life. 

Did  she  whose  courage  had  parted  the  stormy  waters 
of  trouble,  and  who  had  come  out  triumphant,  turn  a 
deaf  ear  to  that  wail  of  despair  ? 

Is  woman  always  the  bitterest  foe  of  her  crushed 
sister  ?  always  the  first  to  throw  a  stone  at  her  ? 

"No — God  be  thanked !  For  the  first  time  Rose  was 
folded  to  a  loving  sister's  heart,  and  in  the  sweet 
words  of  Ruth  to  Naomi,  Gertrude  said,  as  she  bade 
Rose  good-night, 

"Whither  thou  goest  I  will  go ;  whither  thou  lodgest 
I  will  lodge ;  naught  but  death  shah1  part  thee  and  me." 

Was  the  watchman's  midnight  cry,  ft  All's  well," 
beneath  the  window,  a  prophecy  ? 


CHAPTER   XL. 

"  SEEMS  to  me  that  you  are  nudging  a  fellow  for  his 
ticket  every  five  minutes,"  said  a  lantern-jawed  looking 
individual  to  the  railroad  conductor,  as  he  roused  him 
self  from  his  nap,  and  pulled  a  bit  of  red  pasteboard 
from  his  hat-band.  "  I  feel  as  if  my  gastronomic  re 
gion  had  been  scooped  out,  and  rubbed  dry  with  a 
crash-towel ;  how  long  before  we  stop,  hey  ?" 

"Buy  some  books,  sir?"  said  a  young  itinerant 
bookseller  to  our  hungry  traveler. 

"Have  you  the  'True  guide  for  travelers  to  preserve 
their  temper  ?' "  said  our  friend  to  the  urchin. 

The  boy  looked  anxiously  over  the  titles  of  his  little 
library,  and  replied,  with  a  shake  of  the  head,  "  No, 
sir,  I  never  heard  of  it." 

"Nor  I  either,"  responded  the  hungry  growler; 
"  so  get  about  your  business  ;  the  best  book  that  was 
ever  written  can  neither  be  ate  nor  drank  ;  I  'd  give  a 
whole  library  for  a  glass  of  brandy  and  water  this 
minute,"  and  the  unhappy  man  folded  his  arms  over 
his  waistband,  and  doubled  himself  up  like  a  hedge 
hog  in  the  corner. 

"  I  am  always  sure  to  get  a  seat  on  the  sunny  side 


EOSE     CLARK.  25T 

of  the  cars,  and  next  to  an  Irish  woman,"  muttered  a 
young  lady.  "  I  wonder  do  the  Irish  never  feed  on 
any  thing  but  rum  and  onions  ?" 

"  Very  uncomfortable,  these  seats,"  muttered  a  gen 
tleman  who  had  tried  all  sorts  of  positions  to  accom 
modate  his  vertebrae  ;  "  the  corporation  really  should 
attend  to  it.  I  will  write  an  article  about  it  in  my  paper, 
as  soon  as  I  reach  home.  I  will  annihilate  the  whole 
concern ;  they  ought  to  remember  that  editors  occa 
sionally  travel,  and  remember  which  side  their  bread  is 
buttered.  Shade  of  Franklin  !  how  my  bones  ache  ; 
they  shall  hear  of  this  in  '  The  Weekly  Scimeter.'  It 
is  a  downright  imposition." 

In  fact,  every  body  was  cross;  every  body  was 
hungry  and  begrimed  with  dust ;  every  body  was 
ready  to  explode  at  the  next  feather's  weight  of 
annoyance. 

Not  every  body  ;  there  was  one  dear  little  girl  who 
found  sunshine  even  there,  and  ran  about  extracting 
honey  from  what  to  others  were  only  bitter  herbs. 
Holding  on  by  the  seats,  she  passed  up  and  down  the 
narrow  avenue  between  the  benches,  peeping  with  the 
brightest  smile  in  the  world  into  the  faces  of  the  cross 
passengers,  drinking  from  the  little  tin-cup  at  the 
water-tank,  clapping  her  hands  at  the  sound  of  the 
whistle,  and  touching  the  sleeve  even  of  the  hedge 
hog  gentleman  rolled  up  in  the  corner.  The  child's 
mother  sat  on  the  back  seat,  looking  after  her  as 


258  HOSE     CLAKE. 

kindly  as  she  was  able ;  but,  poor  thing,  traveling 
made  her  sick,  and  she  held  her  camphor-bottle  to  her 
nostrils,  and  leaned  gasping  against  the  window-sill  to 
catch  every  stray  breath  of  air. 

What's  that? 

Crash  goes  the  window-glass;  clouds  of  scalding 
steam  pour  into  the  sars,  which  seem  to  be  vibrating 
in  mid-air  ;  benches,  baskets,  bags,  and  passengers  are 
all  jumbled  pell-mell  together ;  every  face  is  blanched 
with  terror. 

"  Oh,  it 's  nothing,  only  the  cars  run  off  the  track — 
only  the  engine  smashed,  and  baggage-car  a  wreck — 
only  the  passengers'  trunks  disemboweled  in  a  muddy 
brook — only  the  engineer  scalded,  and  the  passengers 
turned  out  into  a  wet  meadow  in  a  pelting  shower  of 
rain ;  that 's  all.  Not  a  son  of  Adam  was  to  blame  for 
it — of  course  not,"  growls  the  exasperated  editor. 
"  Thank  fieaven  the  Superintendent  of  the  road  and 
the  Directors  were  in  the  forward  car  and  got  the  first 
baptism  in  that  muddy  brook." 

"  Zounds !"  he  exclaimed,  pinning  up  his  torn  coat- 
flap,  and  punching  out  the  crown  of  his  hat  5  "  they 
shall  hear  of  this  in  '  The  Weekly  Scimeter.'  Railroad 
companies  should  remember  that  editors  sometimes 
travel." 

"May!  my  little  May!"  gasped  the  poor  sick 
woman,  recovering  herself,  and  looking  abcut  for  her 
.child;  "where's  May?" 


ROSE     CLARK.  259 

Ah,  where 's  May?  Folded  in  His  arms  who  carries 
the  little  lambs  so  safely  in  his  bosom — gone  with  the 
smile  yet  bright  on  her  lip. 

Blithe  little  May ! 

They  take  the  little  lifeless  form  and  bear  it  across 
the  fields  to  the  nearest  farm-house,  and  the  mother 
falls  senseless,  with  her  face  to  the  damp  grass — the 
last  tie  of  her  widowed  heart  broken. 

"  Sad  accident,  ma'am — hope  you  are  not  hurt," 
said  the  bustling  village  doctor  to  a  lady  who  held 
her  handkerchief  over  her  mouth.  "  Deplorable  !"  ex 
claimed  the  delighted  doctor.  "  My  engagements  are 
very  pressing  in  the  village — five  cases  of  typhoid 
fever,  two  of  chicken-pox— hurried  up  here  in  the  face 
of  promise  to  a  lady,  wife  of  one  of  our  richest  men,  not 
to  be  gone  over  half  an  hour,  in  case  she  should  want 
me.  Ladies  can't  always  tell  exactly,  you  know,  ma'am. 

"  Jaw-bone  fractured  ?  I  'm  somewhat  in  a  hurry. 
Senator  Scott's  wife,  too,  was  very  unwilling  I  should 
leave  my  office — ;"  and  the  doctor  drew  out  a 
Lepine  watch,  as  if  his  moments  were  so  much  gold- 
dust — as  if  he  had  not  sat  in  his  leathern  chair,  week  in 
and  week  out,  watching  the  spiders  catch  flies,  and 
wishing  he  were  a  spider,  and  the  flies  were  his  pa 
tients. 

"  Jaw-bone  broke,  ma'am  ?"  he  asked,  again. 

"  She  is  not  hurt  at  all,  I  tell  you,"  growled  Mr. 
Howe,  shaking  the  rain  from  his  hat,  as  he  stood  knee- 


260  KOSE     CLARK. 

deep  in  the  tall  meadow-g^ass.  "  She  lost  her  set  of 
false  teeth  in  the  collision,  and  if  you  jabber  at  her  till 
the  last  day  you  won't  catch  her  to  open  her  mouth 
till  she  gets  another  set." 

"Mr.  Howe,"  said  that  gentleman's  wife,  in  a  muffled 
voice  from  behind  the  handkerchief,  "  how  can  you  ?" 

"  How  can  I  ?  I  can  do  any  thing,  Mrs.  Howe. 
Are  not  our  trunks  all  emptied  into  that  cursed 
brook  ?  All  that  French  trumpery  spoiled  for  which 
you  have  been  draining  my  pocket  all  the  spring  to  go 
to  Saratoga.  Did  I  want  to  come  on  this  journey  ? 
Don't  I  hate  journeying  ?  Have  n't  I  been  obliged  to 
go  a  whole  day  at  a  time  with  next  to  nothing  on  my 
stomach?  Haven't  I  been  poked  in  the  ribs  every 
fifteen  minutes  for  the  conductor  to  amuse  himself  by 
snipping  off  the  ends  of  my  railroad  tickets  ?  Don't 
my  head  feel  as  if 'Dodworth's  brass  band  were  playing 
Yankee  Doodle  inside  of  it  ?  Refreshments  !  Yes — 
what  are  the  refreshments  ?  A  rush  round  a  semi 
circular  counter  by  all  sorts  of  barbarians — bowls  of 
oysters,  scalding  hot,  and  ten  minutes  to  swallow  them 
— tea  without  milk — coffee  without  sugar — bread  with 
out  butter,  and  unmitigated  egg — no  pepper — no  salt 
— no  nothing,  and,  seventy-five  cents  to  pay;  the 
whole  thing  is  an  outrageous  humbug  ;  and  now  here  's 
this  collision,  and  your  false  teeth  gone,  not  to  men 
tion  other  things." 

Another  muffled  groan  from  behind  the  handkerchief. 


ROSE     CLARK.  261 

"I'll  have  damages,  heavy  damages — let  rue  see, 
there  is  the  teeth,  $200." 

"Good  heaven's,  Mr.  Howe,"  shrieked  his  wife — 
"you  don't  mean  to  mention  them  to  the  corpora 
tion?" 

"  But  I  do,  though,"  said  John,  "  you  never  will  be 
easy  till  you  get  another  set,  and  I  mean  they  shall 
find  'em." 

Another  groan  from  behind  the  handkerchief. 

"Passengers,  please  go  through  the  meadow,  and 
the  cow-yard,  yonder,  and  cross  the  stile  to  get  into 
the  cars  beyond,"  shouted  the  brakeman. 

Down  jumped  the  ladies  from  their  perches  on  the 
fences  where  they  had  been  roosting,  like  draggled 
hens  in  the  rain,  for  the  last  half  hour,  and  all  made  a 
rush  for  the  cow-yard. 

"  There  now,  Mrs.  Howe — do  you  hear  that  ?  A 
pretty  tramp  through  that  high  grass  for  your  skirts 
and  thin  gaiter-boots.  This  is  what  tourists  call  the 
delights  of  traveling,  I  suppose — humph  ' 

"  We  shan't  get  to till  the  middle  of  the  night, 

I  suppose — i.  e.,  provided  the  conductor  concludes  not 
to  have  another  smash-up.  There  will  be  no  refresh- 
merits,  of  course,  to  be  had,  that  are  good  for  any 
thing,  at  that  time  o>  night ;  Avaiters  sleepy  and  surly, 
and  I  as  hungry  as  a  bear  who  has  had  nothing  but  his 
claws  to  eat  all  winter.  Pleasant  prospect  that.  Yo^ 
need  n't  hold  up  your  skirts  Mrs.  Howe ;  there 's  no 


262  BOSE     CLARK. 

dodging  that  tall  grass.  Trip  to  Saratoga !  Mr. 
John  Howe  and  lady — ha — ha !  Catch  me  in  such  a 
trap  again,  Mrs.  Howe." 

Precisely  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  our  hungry 

and  jaded  travelers  arrived  at .  A  warm  cup  of 

tea  and  some  cold  chicken,  somewhat  mollified  our 
hero,  and  he  was  just  subsiding  into  that  Christian 
frame  of  mind  common  to  his  sex  when  their  hunger 
is  appeased,  when  happening  to  remark  to  the  waiter 
who  stood  beside  him,  that  he  was  glad  to  find  so  good 
a  supper  so  late  at  night — that  worthy  unfortunately 
replied : 

"Oh — yes!  massa!  de  cars  keep  running  off  de 
track  so  often  dat  we  have  to  keep  de  food  ready  all 
de  tune,  'cause  dere  's  no  knowing,  you  see,  when  de 
travelers  will  come  ;  and  dey  is  always  powerful  hun 
gry-" 

"Do  you  hear  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Howe  to  his  wife, 
who  was  munching,  as  well  as  she  was  able,  behind  her 
handkerchief;  "  and  we  have  got  to  go  back  the  same 
road.  You  may  not  want  that  other  set  of  teeth, 
after  all,  my  dear." 

"  Sh — sh — sh — "  said  that  lady,  treading  not  very 
gently  on  his  corns  under  the  table — "  are  you  mad, 
Mr.  Howe  ?» 

"  Yes,"  muttered  her  husband — "  stark,  staring  mad, 
I  have  been  mad  all  day — mad  ever  since  I  started  on 
this  journey  ;  and  I  shall  continue  mad  till  I  get  back 


EOSE     CLARK.  2C3 

to  St.  John's  Square  and  my  old  arm-chair  and  slip 
pers  ;"  and  long  after  the  light  was  extinguished,  Mr. 
Howe  was  muttering  in  his  sleep,  "  I  '11  have  damages 
—let  rnc  see,  there 's  $200  for  the  teeth." 

From  that  journey  Mr.  Howe  dated  his  final  and 
triumphant  Declaration  of  Domestic  Independence. 
The  spell  of  Mrs.  Howe's  cabalistic  whisper  was 
broken.  Mr.  Howe  had  a  counter-spell.  Mrs.  Howe's 
day  was  over.  Mr.  Howe  could  smoke  up  stairs  and 
down  stairs,  and  in  my  lady's  chamber;  he  could 
brush  his  coat  in  the  best  parlor ;  put  his  booted  feet 
on  the  sofa,  and  read  his  political  newspaper  as  long  as 
he  pleased.  The  word  "damages,"  arrested  Mrs. 
Howe  in  her  wildest  flights,  and  brought  her  to  his 
feet,  like  a  shot  pigeon. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A  KNOCK  at  the  door — it  was  Chloe,  with  her  gay 
bandanna,  and  shining  teeth,  and  eyeballs.  She  had 
come  to  take  Charley  out,  ostensibly  "  for  an  airing," 
but  in  fact  to  make  a  public  exhibition  of  him,  for,  in 
her  eyes,  he  was  the  very  perfection  of  childish  beauty. 

"He's  tired,  missis,  stayin'  in  de  house,"  said 
Chloe,  as  Charley  crept  toward  the  door,  "  let  me  take 
him  out  a  bit ;"  and  Chloe  raised  him  from  the  floor, 
and  tied  his  cap  down  over  his  bright  curls,  stoutly  re 
sisting  all  Rose's  attempts  to  cover  his  massive  white 
shoulders,  promising  to  protect  them  from  the  sun's 
rays,  with  her  old-fashioned  parasol. 

Rose  smiled,  as  Chloe  sauntered  off  down  the  street 
with  her  pretty  charge ;  Charley's  dimpled  hand  mak 
ing  ineffectual  attempts  to  gain  possession  of  the  float 
ing  ends  of  her  gay-colored  head-dress. 

And  well  might  Chloe  be  proud  of  him ;  she  had 
been  nurse  to  many  a  fair  southern  child  in  her  day, 
but  never  a  cherub  like  Charley.  One  and  another 
stopped  to  look  at  him.  Mothers  who  had  lost  their 
little  ones,  fathers  in  whose  far-absent  homes  crowed 


ROSE     CLARK.  265 

some  cherished  baby-pet,  and  blessed  little  children, 
with  more  love  than  their  little  hearts  could  carry, 
stopped,  and  asked  "  to  kiss  the  baby." 

Chloe  was  in  a  halo  of  glory.  It  was  such  a  pity 
that  missis  was  not  rich,  that  she  might  be  Charley's 
nurse.  She  was  sure  she  was  not,  because  her  clothes 
and  Charley's,  though  nice,  had  been  so  carefully  re 
paired,  and  then  Chloe  fell  to  romancing  about  it, 

"  Chloe  ?» 

"  Oh,  missis,  is  that  you  ?  Berry  glad  to  see  you," 
said  the  negress,  with  a  not  ungraceful  courtesy,  as  she 
tried  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  lady's  prancing 
horses. 

"  Whose  lovely  baby  is  that  ?"  asked  the  old  lady, 
putting  on  her  glasses,  "  hand  him  to  me,  Chloe." 

The  old  lady  seemed  to  be  strangely  moved  as  Chloe 
sat  him  on  her  knee,  and  tears  chased  each  other  down 
her  face. 

"  He  is  so  like,  Chloe,  so  like  my  poor  dear  boy  at 
his  age ;  just  such  eyes,  just  such  a  forehead,  just  such 
beautiful  shoulders — poor  Vincent !  Whose  child  is  it, 
Chloe  ?"  asked  the  old  lady,  as  she  untied  the  baby's 
cap,  and  pushed  back  the  curls  from  his  forehead. 

"  He  belongs  to  a  northern  lady  I  have  been  nursing, 
missis.  She  is  berry  handsome,  too." 

"  I  can't  spare  him,  yet,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  Chloe 
held  out  her  arms  for  him.  "  I  can  not  let  him  go  ; 
see,  he  likes  me,"  said  she,  delightedly,  as  Charley,  with 

12 


266  ROSE     CLABK. 

one  of  his  caressing  little  Vays,  laid  his  head  down  on 
her  shoulder.  He  is  my  dear  Vincent  back  again.  Get 
in,  Chloe,  I  '11  drive  you  where  you  want  to  go.  I  can 
not  give  up  the  child  yet." 

The  gay,  prancing  horses,  with  their  flowing  tails 
and  manes,  the  silver-mounted  harness,  and  the  bright 
buttons  of  the  liveried  coachman,  sent  a  brighter  sparkle 
to  the  baby's  eyes,  and  a  richer  glow  to  his  cheeks. 
He  crowed,  and  laughed,  and  clapped  his  little  hands, 
till  wearied  with  pleasure,  and  lulled  by  the  rapid  mo 
tion  of  the  carriage,  his  little  lirnbs  relaxed,  and  he  fell 
asleep. 

What  is  so  lovely  as  a  sleeping  babe  ? 

The  evening  star  gemming  the  edge  of  a  sunset 
cloud  ?  the  bent  lily  too  heavy  with  dew  to  chime  its 
silver  bells  to  the  night  wind  ?  the  closed  rose-bud 
whose  fragrant  heart  waits  for  the  warm  sun-ray  to 
kiss  open  its  loveliness  ? 

Unable  to  account  for  the  powerful  magnetism  by 
which  she  was  drawn  to  the  beautiful  child,  the  old 
lady  sat,  without  speaking,  passing  her  fingers  over  his 
ivory  arm,  and  gazing  upon  the  rich  glow  of  his  cheek, 
the  perfect  outline  of  his  limbs,  and  the  shining  curls 
of  his  clustering  hair. 

"  Is  this  baby's  mother  a  widow,  Chloe  ?"  she  asked, 
at  length. 

"I  think  so, missis — I  don't  know — I  ax  no  questions." 

"Is  she  wealthy?" 


ROSE     CLARK.  267 

"  Lor',  bless  you,  no,  missis ;  her  clothes  all  mended 
berry  earful." 

"  I  wish  I  had  this  baby,"  said  the  old  lady,  half 
musingly,  as  she  again  looked  at  Charley. 

"  Oh,  Lor',  missis,  she  lub  him  like  her  life — 't  ain't 
no  use,  I  tink." 

The  old  lady  seemed  scarcely  to  hear  Chloe's  an 
swer,  but  sat  looking  at  Charley. 

"  It  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  me,"  she  continued. 
"  Where  does  his  mother  live,  Chloe  ?" 

"  In street,"  answered  the  negress. 

"That  is  close  by,  I  will  drive  you  to  the  door, 
and  you  must  ask  leave  to  bring  him  to  see  me, 
Chloe ;"  and  impressing  a  kiss  on  the  face  of  the  sleep 
ing  child,  she  resigned  him  to  his  nurse. 

Rose  sat  rocking  to  and  fro  in  her  small  parlor,  in  a 
loose  muslin  wrapper,  and  little  lace  cap,  languid  from 
the  excitement  of  the  previous  day,  thinking  of  Ger 
trude,  and  wishing  she  had  but  a  tithe  of  that  indom 
itable  energy  to  which  obstacles  only  served  as  stimu 
lants  ;  and  then  Gertrude  was  talented,  what  had  she 
but  her  pretty  face  ?  and  that,  alas !  had  brought  her 
only  misery! 

"  Come  in,"  said  Rose,  in  answer  to  a  slight  tap  on 
the  door. 

"  Ah,  sit  down,  Gertrude.  Chloe  has  just  carried 
Charley  away,  and  I  am  quite  alone."  , 


268  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  I  must  make  a  sketch  of  that  ebony  Venus,  some 
day,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  I  confess,"  said  she,  as  she  seated  herself  in  Rose's 
little  rocking-chair,  "  to  a  strong  penchant  for  the  Af 
rican.  His  welling  sympathies,  his  rollicksome  nature, 
and  his  punctilious  observance  of  etiquette  in  his  in 
tercourse  with  his  fellows,  both  amuse  and  interest  me. 

"  Tour  genuine  African  has  dancing  in  his  heels, 
cooking  at  his  fingers'  ends,  music  on  his  lips,  and  a 
trust  in  Providence  for  the  supply  of  his  future  wants 
equaled  only  by  the  birds  of  the  air. 

"  He  dances  and  prays  with  a  will,  nor  thinks  the 
two  inconsistent,  as  they  are  not.  You  should  have 
gone  with  me,  Rose,  to  an  African  church  not  long 
since.  I  had  grown  weary  of  fine  churches,  and  super 
fine  ministers,  and  congregations  so  polished  that  they 
had  the  coldness  as  well  as  the  smoothness  of  marble. 
I  wearied  of  tasseled  prayer-books,  with  gilt  clasps, 
and  all  the  mummeries  which  modern  religionists  seem 
to  have  substituted  for  true  worship. 

"  So  I  wandered  out  into  the  by-streets  and  poor 
places  to  find  nature^  rough  and  uncultivated  though  it 
might  be.  A  tumble-down  looking  church,  set  among 
some  old  tenement-houses,  caught  my  eye.  Bare 
headed  children  were  hanging  round  the  door,  scarcely 
kept  in  abeyance  by  a  venerable-looking  negro  sexton 
in  the  porch,  with  grizzled  locks  and  white  neckerchief, 
whose  admonitory  shakes  of  the  head  habit  had  evi- 


ROSE     CLAEK.  269 

dently  made  second  nature,  as  he  bestowed  them 
promiscuously,  right  and  left,  till  service  was  closed. 

"  I  entered  and  took  my  seat  among  the  audience. 
No  surly  pew  occupant  placed  a  forbidding  hand  on 
the  pew  door.  Seats,  hymn-books,  crickets,  and  fans 
were  at  my  disposal.  The  hymn  was  found  for  me. 
I  found  myself  (minus  4  a  voice')  joining  in  the 
hearty  chorus.  Who  could  help  it  ?  '  God  save  the 
King'  and  the  Marseillaise  were  tame  in  comparison. 
Every  body  sang.  It  was  infectious.  The  bent  old 
negress,  with  her  cracked  voice,  her  broad  shouldered, 
muscular  son,  her  sweet-voiced  mulatto  daughter, 
and  her  chubby  little  grandchild,  with  swelling  chest, 
to  whom  Sunday  was  neither  a  bugbear  nor  a  bore. 
And  such  hearty  singing ! — sometimes  too  fast,  some 
times  too  slow,  but  to  my  ear  music,  because  it  was 
soul,  not  cold  science. 

"  It  was  communion-Sabbath,  and  so  I  went  up  to 
the  chancel  and  knelt  side  by  side  with  my  dusky 
friends.  The  clergyman  was  a  white  man,  and  it  was 
millennial  to  see  his  loving  hand  of  blessing  laid  on 
those  dusky  brows.  This  is  as  it  should  be,  said  I — 
this  is  worship  ;  and  as  we  retired  to  make  room  for 
other  communicants,  the  clergyman  himself  stepped 
forward  to  assist  to  the  chancel  a  gray  old  negress,  of 
fourscore  years,  whose  tottering  steps  were  even  then 
at  the  grave's  brink.  I  went  home  happy,  for  I  had 
not  fed  on  husks. 


270  TIOSE     CLARK. 

"  Ah !  visitors  ?  Then  I  must  run,"  said  Gertrude, 
springing  up  at  a  rap  on  the  door. 

"  It  is  Chloe,  I  fancy,"  said  Rose. 

"  Well,  good-by,"  said  she,  stooping  to  kiss  Charley, 
whom  she  passed  on  the  threshhold,  "  I  must  back  to 
my  easel.  Ah  !  it  is  the  locket  you  want,  not  me,  you 
rogue,"  said  she  to  Charley,  as  she  disengaged  a  chain 
from  her  neck,  and  threw  it  over  the  child's,  "  mer 
cenary,  like  the  rest  of  your  sex." 

Chloe  marched  in  with  Charley,  who,  now  wide 
awake,  sat  perched  upon  her  shoulder,  looking  as  im 
perial  as  young  Napoleon. 

"  This  yere  boy  has  got  to  go,  missis,"  said  Chloe, 
still  marching  round  the  room,  as  if  treading  all  objec 
tions  under  foot.  "  Whar  's  his  frocks  and  pinafores  ? 
My  ole  missis.  Vincent,  see  him,  and  take  him  to  ride  in 
her  fine  carriage,  and  cry  over  him,  cause  she  say  he 
so  berry  like  her  poor  murdered  boy." 

"  De  Lor' !  missis,"  exclaimed  Chloe,  "  how  white 
you  look  !  Whar 's  your  salts  ?" 

"  Open  the  window,"  said  Rose,  faintly,  "  the  room 
is  too  close,  Chloe." 

"  Thar — will  you  hab  some  water,  missis  ?  you  ain't 
nowise  strong  yet,"  said  Chloe.  "  Had  n't  you  better 
lie  down,  missis  ?" 

"No,  thank  you.  What  were  you  saying,  Chloe, 
about  Charley  ?" 

"  Well,  you  see,  my  ole  missis.  Vincent,  she  gib  me 


KOSE     CLARK.  2Vl 

my  freedom,  you  know;  good  missis,  but  hab  berry 
bad  son ;  berry  handsome,  but  berry  bad ;  bad  for 
wine,  and  bad  for  women ;  gambled,  and  ebery  ting ; 
broke  his  ole  fadder's  heart  clean  in  two,  and  den  got 
killed  hisself  by  some  bad  woman. 

"  Ole  missis  berry  rich  now,  but  her  money  ain't  no 
comfort,  cause  she  hab  to  lib  all  alone.  To-day  she  met 
me  wid  Massa  Charley  here.  De  Lor',  how  she  did 
take  on  !  She  say  he  look  jess  like  young  Massa  Yin- 
cent,  when  he  was  little  piccaninny,  and  she  kiss  him, 
and  hold  him,  and  hab  such  a  time  ober  him,  and  not 
ing  would  do  but  he  must  go  ride  in  de  carriage,  and 
she  bring  us  way  home  to  de  door. 

"  She  wants  you,  missis,  to  let  her  hab  Charley.  I 
told  her  you  wouldn't,  certain,"  said  Chloe,  with  a 
scrutinizing  glance  at  Rose,  for  in  truth,  Chloe  secretly 
wished,  in  that  African  heart  of  hers,  that  the  matter 
might  be  brought  about,  and  that  she  might  be  in 
stalled  nurse  for  the  handsome  boy. 

"  No,  of  course,  you  would  n't,  missis ;  but  would  n't 
it  be  a  fine  thing  for  you,  Massa  Charley  ?"  said  she, 
perching  him  on  the  edge  of  her  knee,  "  to  ride  ah1  de 
blessed  time  in  dat  fine  carriage,  and  one  day  hab  it  all 
yourself,  and  de  house,  and  de  silver,  and  de  money, 
for  missis  hab  no  relations  now,  no  chick,  nor  child, 
and  you  're  just  handsome  enough  to  do  it,"  said  Chloe, 
with  another  sly  glance  at  Rose's  face.  "  You  're  jess 
born  for  dat  same — dat 's  a  fac — so  ole  Chloe  tinks, 


272  BOSE     CLARK. 

yah,  yah — jess  as  well  to  laff  about  it,  missis,"  said  the 
cunning  Chole,  "  no  harm  in  dat,  you  know ;  but  he 
took  to  the  ole  lady  jess  as  nat'ral,  and  set  up  in  her 
lap,  just  as  if  he  belonged  dere  in  dat  carriage ;  it  made 
ole  Chloe  laff — yah,  yah.  Massa  Charley,  he  make  his 
way  in  de  world  wid  dat  handsome  face  of  his'n.  Ole 
Chloe  is  always  stumbling  on  good  luck,"  said  the  old 
negress,  laughing,  "  all  for  dis,"  said  she,  exhibiting  an 
old  metal "  charm"  attached  to  a  string  inside  her 
dress.  "  Good-by — we  shall  see.  I  come  for  you  agin, 
Massa  Charley,  for  my  ole  missis  berry  childish,  when 
she  wants  a  ting  .r he  will  hab  it,  and  de  debbel  hisself 
can't  help  it — yah,  yah." 

As  the  door  closed  on  old  Chloe's  weird  figure, 
Rose  almost  felt  as  if  her  words  were  prophecies. 
What  if  the  law  of  nature  should  set  aside  all  other 
law  and  bring  in  a  verdict  for  Charley  ?  Should  she, 
regardless  of  her  strong  maternal  feelings,  yield  him 
up  ?  Away  from  her  he  would  escape  the  taunt  of  his 
birth,  and  yet  how  could  she  school  her  heart  to  such 
a  parting.  What  was  wealth  and  position  compared 
to  high  moral  principle  and  a  pure  life  ?  If  Vincent's 
mother  knew  not  how  to  instill  these  into  her  own  son, 
might  she  not  wreck  Charley  on  the  same  fatal  rock  ? 
But  what  wild  dream  was  her  brain  weaving?  She 
could  not,  would  not  deceive  Madam  Vincent,  and 
then  would  there  not  be  a  revulsion  of  feeling  when 
the  proud  old  lady  knew  the  truth?  for  how  could 


isOSE     CLARK.  273 

Rose  mention  the  great  wrong  she  had  suffered,  and 
not  wound  the  doting  mother's  heart  ?  or  how  could 
she  yield  up  Charley  to  one  who  would  ignore  his 
mother  ?  N"o,  no.  She  would  think  no  more  of  it ; 
and  yet  that  Vincent's  mother  should  have  petted  and 
fondled,  even  unconsciously,  Vincent's  boy — there  was 
comfort  in  that  thought. 

"Are  you  well  enough  to  receive  a  visitor  this 
morning,"  asked  Doctor  Perry,  as  he  entered  the 
room. 

"Physicians  do  not  consider  j^t  necessary  to  ask 
that  question,"  said  Rose,  with  some  little  embarrass 
ment  in  her  manner.  "  I  have  much  to  thank  you  for, 
doctor,  and  am  none  the  less  grateful  for  your  kind 
attentions,  that  I  was  unconscious  of  them.  But  how 
happened  it  ?"  asked  she,  with  surprise.  "  I  thought 
you  had  left  town  with  Captain  Lucas.  How  did  you 
find  us  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  was  unexpectedly  de 
tained  by  business.  The  morning  of  the  day  you  were 
taken  ill,  happening  to  pass,  I  saw  you  accidentally  at 
the  window, -and  resolved  to  call  that  very  evening. 
It  happened  quite  opportunely,  you  see." 

"  Yes — thank  you ;  I  think  I  had  become  overpow 
ered  with  the  heat  and  fatigue." 

"  I  was  apprehensive  of  brain  fever,"  said  the  doc 
tor ;  "  you  talked  so  incoherently." 
12* 


274  EOSK     CLARK. 

Rose's  face  instantly  became  suffused,  and  the  doctor 
added  kindly : 

"Whatever  I  may  have  heard,  is  of  course,  safe 
with  me,  Rose." 

"  N"o  one  else  heard  ?"  she  asked. 

"  IsTo  one.  Your  landlady  is  too  deaf,  and  Chloe 
seemed  absorbed  in  taking  care  of  Charley,  and  pre 
paring  your  •medicines." 

"  Rose,"  said  the  doctor,  "  if  my  possession  of  your 
secret  distresses  you,  suppose  I  give  you  one  in  ex 
change  :  I  had,  and  have,  no  business  in  New  Orleans, 
save  to  watch  over  you  and  yours.  Every  weary 
footstep  of  yours,  my  eye  has  tracked  ;  nay,  do  not  be 
angry  with  me,  for  how  could  love  like  mine  abandon 
your  helplessness  in  this  great  strange  city  ?  I  am  not 
about  to  weary  you  by  a  repetition  of  what  you  have 
already  heard,  or  distress  you  by  alluding  to  what  you 
unconsciously  revealed.  I  know  that  your  heart  is 
cold  and  benumbed;  but  Rose,  it  is  not  dead.  You 
say  you  are  grateful  to  me  for  what,  after  all,  was 
mere  selfishness  on  my  part,  for  my  greatest  happiness 
was,  though  unseen,  to  be  near  you.  I  will  be  satisfied 
with  that  gratitude.  Will  you  not  accept  for  life,  my 
services  on  those  terms?"  and  the  doctor  drew  his 
chair  nearer  to  Rose,  and  took  her  hand  in  his  own. 

"  You  know  not  what  you  ask,"  mournfully  re 
plied  Rose.  "  You  are  deceiving  yourself.  You 
think  that  in  time,  gratitude  will  ripen  into  a  warmer 


ROSE     CLARK.  275 

feeling.  I  feel  that  this  can  never  be.  My  heart  has 
lost  its  spring;  it  is  capable  only  of  a  calm,  sisterly 
feeling,  and  the  intensity  of  your  love  for  me  would 
lead  you  after  awhile  to  weary  of,  and  reject  this ; 
you  would  be  a  prey  to  chagrin  and  disappointment. 
How  can  I  bring  such  a  misery  on  the  heart  to  whose 
kindness  I  owe  so  much  ?" 

"  Rose,  you  do  not  know  me."  said  the  doctor,  pas 
sionately.  "  Do  not  judge  me  by  other  men.  As  far 
as  my  own  happiness  is  concerned,  I  fearlessly  encoun 
ter  the  risk." 

"  Then,"  said  Rose,  thoughtfully,  "  there  would  be 
dark  days  when  even  your  society  would  be  irksome 
to  me,  when  solitude  alone  could  restore  the  tension 
cf  my  mind." 

"  I  should  respect  those  days,"  replied  her  lover ; 
"  I  would  never  intrude  upon  their  sacredness ;  I 
would  never  love  you  the  less  for  their  recurrence." 

"Then,"  said  the  ingenuous  Rose,  blushing  as  she 
spoke,  "  the  sin  which  the  world  wrongly  imputes  to 
me  will  never  be  forgiven  of  earth.  As  your  wife  I 
must  appear  in  society ;  how  would  you  bear  the 
whisper  of  malice  ?  the  sneer  of  envy  ? — no,  no !"  said 
Rose,  while  tears  stole  down  her  face ;  "  I  must  meet 
this  alone." 

"  Rose,  you  shall  not  choose  !"  said  the  doctor,  pas 
sionately.  "  I  must  stand  between  you  and  all  this  ;  I 
declare  to  you  that  I  will  never  leave  you.  If  you  re- 


276  EOSE     CLARK. 

fuse  me  the  right  to  protect  you  legally,  I  will  still 
watch  over  you  at  a  distance; — but  oh  Rose,  dear 
Rose,  do  not  deny  me.  I  have  no  relations  whose 
averted  faces  you  need  fear ;  my  parents  are  dead.  I 
had  a  sister  once ;  but  whether  living  or  dead  I  know 
not.  There  are  none  to  interfere  between  us ;  let  us 
be  all  the  world  to  each  other. 

"  Charley !  plead  for  me,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he 
raised  the  beautiful  child  in  his  arms ;  "  who  shall  pilot 
your  little  bark  safely?  This  little  hand  is  all  too 
fragile,"  and  he  took  that  of  Rose  tenderly  in  his  own 
— "  Nay,  do  not  answer  me  now ;  I  am  selfish  so  to 
distress  you,"  said  he,  as  Rose  made  an  ineffectual  at 
tempt  to  speak ; — "  think  of  it,  dear  Rose,  and  let  your 
answer  be  kindly  ;  oh,  trust  me,  Rose." 

As  he  stooped  to  place  Charley  on  the  floor,  the 
locket  which  the  child  had  around  his  neck  became 
separated  from  the  chain  to  which  it  was  attached, 
and,  striking  upon  the  floor,  touched  a  spring  which 
opened  the  lid ;  under  it  was  a  miniature.  The  doctor 
gazed  at  it  as  if  spell-bound. 

"Where  did  you  get  this,  Rose?  Surely  it  can 
not  be  yours,"  and  a  deadly  paleness  overspread  his  face. 

"  It  belongs  to  a  lady  who  boards  here,"  said  Rose, 
'  and  who  transferred  it  from  her  neck  to  Charley's 
this  morning.  Has  it  any  interest  for  you  ?" 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  let  me  see  her !"  said  the  doc 
tor,  still  looking  at  the  picture. 


ROSE     CLARK.  277 

"  Her  name  ?     Gertrude  Dean,"  said  Rose. 

"  Dean  ?"  repeated  the  doctor,  looking  disappointed, 
"  Dean  ?  Rose,  that  is  a  picture  of  my  own  father." 

While  they  were  speaking,  Gertrude  tapped  on  the 
door.  "  My  locket,  dear  Rose ;  I  hope  'tis  not  lost." 

Turning  suddenly,  her  eye  fell  upon  the  doctor 
With  a  wild  cry  of  joy  she  flew  into  his  arms,  ei 
claiming,  "My  brother!  my  OWD  long-lost  Walter! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  GOOD  morning,  missis,"  and  Chloe's  turbaned 
head  followed  the  salutation.  "  Did  n't  I  tell  you  dat 
Massa  Charley  be  born  wid  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouf  ? 
His  dish  right  side  up  when  it  rams,  for  certain. 

"  See  here,  missis,"  and  she  handed  Rose  a  small 
package,  containing  a  pair  of  coral  and  gold  sleeve- 
ties  for  Charley's  dimpled  shoulders.  "  Did  n't  I  tell 
you  dat  missis  could  n't  lose  sight  of  him  ?  and  she 
sent  me  here  for  him.  to  come  ride  in  de  carriage  wid 
her  again  to-day,  and  eat  dinner  at  de  big  house,  and 
all  dat,"  and  Chloe  rubbed  her  hands  together,  and 
looked  the  very  incarnation  of  delight. 

"  Well,"  said  Rose,  "  Charley  has  nothing  fine  to 
wear  ;  only  a  simple  white  frock,  Chloe." 

"  All  de  same,  missis ;  he  handsome  enuff  widout 
any  ting.  Missis  must  take  powerful  liking  to  give 
him  dese;  dey  are  Massa  Vincent's  gold  sleeve-ties 
he  wore  when  he  little  piccaninny  like  Charley  dare." 

Rose  took  them  in  her  hand,  and  was  lost  in  thought. 

"  Jess  as  good,  for  all  dat,  misses,"  said  Chloe,  think 
ing  Rose  objected  to  them  because  they  were  second- 


KOSE     CLAEK.  279 

hand.  "Missis  wouldn't  gib  dem  away  to  every 
body,  bat  she  say  Charley  so  like  young  Massa  Vin 
cent,  dat  she  could  n't  talk  of  nuffing  else  de  whole 
bressed  time.  Hope  you  won't  tink  of  sending  them 
back,  missis,"  said  Chloe,  apologetically ;  "  she  is  old 
and  childish,  you  know." 

"  No,"  said  Rose,  sadly ;  "  Charley  may  wear 
them ;"  and  she  looped  them  up  over  his  little  white 
shoulders,  with  a  prayer  that  his  manhood  might  better 
fulfill  the  promise  of  his  youth. 

"  Ki !"  exclaimed  Chloe,  as  she  held  him  off  at  arm's 
length.  "Won't  ole  missis'  servants — Betty,  and 
Nancy,  and  Dolly,  and  John,  and  de  coachman,  and 
all  dat  white  trash,  tink  dey  nebber  see  de  like  of  dis 
before  ?  And  won't  Massa  Charley  make  'em  all  step 
round,  one  of  dese  days,  wid  dem  big  black  eyes  of 
his  ?" 

Chloe's  soliloquies  were  very  suggestive,  and  Rose 
sat  a  long  while  after  her  departure  analyzing  Char 
ley's  disposition,  and  wondering  if  the  seeds  of  such  a 
spirit  lay  dormant  in  her  child,  waiting  only  the  sun 
of  prosperity  to  quicken  them  into  life.  How  many 
mothers,  as  they  rocked  their  babes,  have  pondered 
these  things  in  their  hearts ;  and  how  many  more, 
alas !  have  reaped  the  bitter  harvest  of  those  who 
take  no  thought  for  the  soul's  morrow! 


CHAPTER   X1III. 

"  AND  so  you  will  not  give  me  the  poor  satisfaction 
of  punishing  and  exposing  the  scoundrel  who  has 
treated  you  so  basely  ?"  said  John  to  his  sister,  as 
they  sat  in  her  little  studio. 

"No,"  said  Gertrude;  "he  has  taken  that  trouble  off 
your  hands — he  has  punished  himself.  He  has  traveled 
all  over  the  Union  in  search  of  employment,  and  suc 
ceeded  in  nothing  he  has  undertaken.  He  has  met 
with  losses  and  disappointments  in  every  shape,  and 
occupies,  at  present,  a  most  inferior  business  position, 
I  am  told.  Now  that  I  have  become  famous,  and  it  is 
out  of  his  power  to  injure  me,  he  quails  at  the  mention 
of  my  name  in  public,  and  dreads  nothing  so  much  as 
recognition  by  those  who  are  acquainted  with  his  base 
ness.  He  sneaks  through  life,  with  the  consciousness 
that  he  has  played  the  part  of  a  scoundrel — what  could 
even  you  add  to  this  ?" 

"But  the  idea  of  such  a  miserable  apology  for  a 
man  getting  a  divorce  from  a  sister  of  mine,"  said 
John,  striding  impatiently  across  the  room.  "Why  did 
you  not  anticipate  him,  Gertrude  ?  and  with  right  on 
your  side,  too." 


ROSE     CLARK.  281 

"  Had  I  been  pecuniarily  able  to  do  so,"  replied  Ger 
trude,  "I  had  not  the  slightest  wish  to  oppose  a 
divorce,  especially  as  I  knew  it  could  be  obtained  on 
no  grounds  that  would  compromise  me.  For  months 
after  Stahle  left  me,  and,  indeed,  before,  he  and  his 
spies  had  been  on  my  track.  Had  there  been  a  shadow 
of  a  charge  they  could  have  preferred  against  my  good 
name,  then  would  have  been  their  hour  of  triumph ! 
I  have  a  copy  of  the  divorce  papers  in  my  possession, 
and  the  only  allegation  there  preferred  is,  that  I  did 
not  accept  Stahle's  invitation  to  join  him  when  he 
wrote  me,  in  the  manner  I  have  related  to  you." 

"  But  the  world,  Gertrude,  the  world,"  said  the  irri 
tated  John,  "  will  not  understand  this." 

"  My  dear  John,"  said  Gertrude,  "  they  who  desire 
to  believe  a  lie,  will  do  so  in  the  face  of  the  clearest 
evidence  to  the  contrary.  But  I  have  found  out  that 
though  a  person  (a  woman  especially)  may  suffer  much 
from  the  bitter  persecution  of  such  persons,  from  the 
general  undeserved  suspicion  of  wrong,  and  from  the 
pusillanimity  of  those  who  should  be  her  defenders, 
yet  even  in  such  a  position,  a  woman  can  never  be  in 
jured  essentially ',  save  by  her  own  acts,  for  God  is 
just,  and  truth  and  innocence  will  triumph.  I  am 
righted  before  the  world;  my  untiring  industry  and 
uprightness  of  life  are  the  refutal  of  his  calumnies. 
Leave  him  to  his  kennel  obscurity,  my  dear  John.  I 
do  not  now  need  the  blow  that  I  am  sure  you  would 


282  ROSE     CLARK. 

not  hare  been  slow  to  strike  for  me  had  you  known 
how  your  sister  was  oppressed." 

"I  don't  know  but  you  are  right,  Gertrude,  and 
yet — if  he  ever  should  cross  my  path,  my  opinion  might 
undergo  a  sudden  revulsion.  Does  he  still  keep  up  the 
show  of  piety  ?" 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  said  Gertrude.  "  The  first  thing 
he  does,  when  he  goes  into  a  new  place  is  to  connect 
himself  with  some  church.  What  a  pity,  John,  such 
men  should  bring  religion  into  disrepute." 
/  "  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  And  yet  you  refuse  to 
expose  it.  It  is  just  because  of  this  that  so  many 
hypocrites  go  unmasked.  Sift  them  out,  I  say — if 
there  is  not  a  communicant  left  in  the  church.  I  do 
not  believe  in  throwing  a  wide  mantle  over  such  whited 
sepulchers." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  Gertrude,  "  that  they  whose 
houses  are  built  on  such  a  sandy  foundation  will  quietly 
see  them  undermined  ?  Such  a  hue  and  cry  as  they 
will  raise  (all  for  the  honor  of  the  cause,  of  course !) 
about  your  { speaking  lightly  of  religion  and  its  profess 
ors  !' " 

"  Very  true,"  said  John,  "  it  is  speaking  lightly  of 
its  professors  but  not  of  its  possessors.  They  might 
as  well  tell  you  to  keep  dumb  about  a  gang  of  coun 
terfeiters,  lest  it  should  do  injury  to  the  money-market ; 
bah  !  Gertrude,  I  have  no  patience  with  such  tamper 
ing;  but  to  dismiss  an  unpleasant  topic,  ycu  have 


HOSE     CLARK.  283 

plenty  of  employment,  I  see ;"  and  John  glanced  round 
the  room,  at  Gertrude's  pictures.  "  I  am  proud  of  you, 
Gertrude  ;  I  honor  you  for  your  self-reliance ;  but  what 
is  your  fancy,  with  your  artistic  reputation,  for  living 
such  a  nun's  life  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Gertrude,  "  in  the  first  place,  my  time 
is  too  valuable  to  me  to  be  thrown  away  on  bores  and 
idlers,  and  the  Paul  Pry  family,  in  all  its  various  rami 
fications.  Autograph  hunters  I  have  found  not  with 
out  their  use,  as  I  never  answer  their  communications, 
and  they  find  me  in  letter  stamps.  But  entre  nous,  John, 
I  have  no  very  exalted  opinion  of  the  sex  to  which  you 
belong. 

"  Men  are  so  gross  and  unspiritual,  John,  so  wedded 
to  making  money  and  promiscuous  love,  so  selfish  and 
unchivalric ;  of  course  there  are  occasionally  glorious 
exceptions,  but  who  would  be  foolish  enough  to  wade 
through  leagues  of  brambles,  and  briars,  to  find  per 
chance  one  flower?  Female  friends,  of  course,  are 
out  of  the  question,  always  excepting  Rose,  whose 
title  is  no  misnomer.  And  as  to  general  society,  it  is 
so  seldom  one  finds  a  congenial  circle  that,  having  re 
sources  of  my  own,  I  feel  disinclined  to  encounter  the 
risk." 

"  This  isolation  is  unnatural ;  Gertrude,  you  can  not 
be  happy." 

"  Who  is  ?"  asked  Gertrude.   "  Are  you  ?    Is  Rose  ? 


284  ROSE     CLAKK. 

Where  is  the  feast  at  which  there  is  no  skeleton  ?  I 
make  no  complaint.  I  enjoyed  more  happiness  in 
the  five  years  of  my  first  wedded  life  than  falls  to 
the  lot  of  most  mortals  in  a  life-time.  I  know  that 
such  an  experience  can  not  be  repeated,  so  I  live 
on  the  past.  You  say  I  am  not  happy ;  I  am  negatively 
happy.  If  I  gather  no  honey,  I  at  least  escape  the 
sting." 

"  I  wish  for  my  sake,  Gertrude,  you  would  go  into 
society.  I  can  not  but  think  you  would  form  new  ties 
that  would  brighten  life.  As  a  woman,  you  can  not 
be  insensible  to  your  attractive  power." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  exert  it,"  replied  Gertrude ; 
"  there  are  undoubtedly  men  in  want  of  housekeep 
ers,  and  plenty  of  widowers  in  want  of  nurses  for  their 
children.  My  desires  do  not  point  that  way." 

"  You  are  incorrigible,  Gertrude.  Do  you  suppose 
there  is  no  man  who  has  sense  enough  to  love  you  for 
yourself  alone  ?" 

"What  if  I  do  not  want  to  be  loved?"  asked  his 
sister. 

"  But  you  do,"  persisted  John ;  "  so  long  as  there  is 
any  vitality  in  a  women,  she  likes  to  be  loved." 

"  Well,  then,  granting  your  proposition  for  the  sake 
of  the  argument,  please  give  me  credit  for  a  most  mar 
tyr-like  and  persistent  self-denial,"  said  Gertrude, 
laughing. 


ROSE     CLABK.  285 

"  I  will  give  you  credit  for  nothing,  till  your  heart 
gets  thawed  out  a  little ;  and  I  think  I  know  a  friend 
of  mine  who  can  do  it." 

"  Forewarned  forearmed,"  said  his  sister. 


CHAPTER    XIIV. 

"Ross,  you  are  not  looking  well,  this  morning. 
Confess,  now,  that  you  did  not  sleep  a  wink  last  night. 
I  heard  the  pattering  of  your  little  feet  over  my  head 
long  after  midnight." 

"  Very  likely,  for  I  was  unaccountably  restless.  I 
will  tell  you  what  troubled  me.  I  was  trying  to  think 
of  some  way  to  support  myself;  I  wish  I  had  a  tithe  of 
your  energy,  Gertrude." 

"  Well  you  have  not,  you  are  just  made  to  be  loved 
and  petted.  You  are  too  delicate  a  bit  of  porcelain  to 
be  knocked  and  hustled  round  amid  the  delf  of  the 
world.  Your  gift  is  decidedly  wife-wise,  and  the  soon 
er  you  let  my  good  brother  John  make  you  one,  the 
better  for  all  of  us." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  my  turning  authoress  ?" 
asked  Rose,  adroitly  turning  the  subject. 

"  Oh,  do  it,  by  all  means,"  mocked  Gertrude,  "  it  is 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  write  a  book.  It 
would  be  just  the  thing  for  a  little  sensitive-plant  like 
you.  I  think  I  see  it  fairly  launched.  I  think  I  see 
you  sit  down  with  the  morning  paper  in  your  hand  to 


ROSE     CLARK.  287 

read  a  criticism  on  it,  from  some  coarse  pen,  dressed  in 
a  little  brief  authority,  in  the  absence  of  some  editor ; 
a  fellow  who  knows  no  difference  between  a  sun-flower 
and  a  violet,  and  whose  daily  aspirations  are  bounded 
by  an  oyster  supper,  or  a  mint-julep.  I  think  I  see 
you  thumped  on  the  head  with  his  butchering1  cleaver, 
every  nerve  quivering  under  the  crucifixion  of  his 
coarse  scalpel." 

"  But  surely  there  are  those  who  know  a  good  book 
when  they  see  it,  and  I  mean  to  write  a  good  book." 

"  You  little  simpleton,  as  if  that  would  save  you ! 
Do  you  suppose  you  will  be  forgiven  for  writing  a  good 
book  ?  No,  my  dear ;  the  editor  of  ;  The  Daily  Lorg 
nette,'  takes  it  up,  he  devours  a  chapter  or  two,  he 
begins  to  fidget  in  his  chair,  he  sees  there  is  genius  in 
it,  he  gets  up  and  strides  across  his  office,  he  recollects 
certain  books  of  his  own,  which  nobody  ever  read  but 
his  publishers  and  himself,  and  every  word  he  reads  ir 
ritates  that  old  sore.  The  next  day,  under  the  head  of 
book  notices  you  will  see  the  following  in  the  Daily 
Lorgnette : — 

"  c  Gore  House,  by  Rose  Ringdove.' 

"  '  We  have  perused  this  book ;  it  is  unnecessary  to 
state  in  its  title-page  that  it  was  written  by  a  female 
hand.  The  plot  is  feeble  and  inartistic.  In  dialogue, 
the  writer  utterly  fails ;  the  heroine,  Effie  Waters,  is  a 
stiff,  artificial  creation,  reminding  us  constantly  of  those 
females  painted  on  the  pannels  of  omnibuses,  convuls- 


288  ROSE     CLARK. 

ively  grasping  to  their  bosoms  a  posy,  or  a  poodle. 
There  is  an  indescribable  and  heterogeneous  jumbliiig 
of  characters  in  this  volume.  The  authoress  vainly 
endeavors  to  straighten  out  this  snarl  in  the  last  chap 
ter,  which  has  nothing  to  recommend  it  but  that  it  is 
the  last.  We  advise  the  authoress  of  '  Gore  House'  to 
choose  some  other  escape-valve  for  her  restless  .femi 
ninity  ;  petticoat  literature  has  become  a  drug  in  the 
market.' 

"How  do  you  like  that?"  said  Gertrude,  laugh 
ing. 

"Well,  the  editor  of  the  'Christian  Warrior'  sits 
down  to  read  '  Gore  House,'  he  takes  out  his  specta 
cles,  and  wipes  them  deliberately  on  his  red-silk  pocket- 
handkerchief,  he  adjusts  them  on  the  bridge  of  his 
sagacious  nose;  he  reads  on  undisturbed  until  he  comes 
to  the  description  of  'Deacon  Pendergrast,'  who  is 
very  graphically  sketched  as  a  *  wolf  in  sheep's  cloth 
ing.'  Conscience  holds  up  the  mirror,  and  he  beholds 
himself,  like  unto  a  man  who  sees  his  natural  face  in  a 
glass.  Straightway  he  sitteth  down,  and  writeth  the 
following  impartial  critique  of  the  book : 

"  '  We  have  read  "  Gore  House."  We  do  not  hesi 
tate  to  pronounce  it  a  bad  book,  unfit  to  He  on  the 
table  of  any  religious  family.  In  it,  religion  is  held  up 
to  ridicule.  It  can  not  fail  to  have  a  most  pernicious 
influence  on  the  minds  of  the  5,  oung.  We  hope  Chris 
tian  editors  all  over  the  land  will  not  hesitate,  out  of 


ROSE     CLARK.  280 

courtesy  to  the  authoress,  to  warn  the  reading  public 
of  this  locomotive  poison.' 

"  The  editor  of  the  '  Christian  Warrior'  then  hands 
the  notice  to  his  foreman  for  an  early  insertion,  puts  on 
his  hat,  and  goes  to  the  anniversary  of  the  Society  for 
the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel,  of  which  he  is  presi 
dent, 

"The  editor  of  the  'John  Bull'  reads  'Gore  House.' 
He  is  an  Englishman,  and  pledged  to  his  British 
blood,  while  he  makes  his  living  out  of  America,  10 
abuse,  underate,  and  villify,  her  government,  institu 
tions,  and  literature,  therefore  he  says,  curtly : 

"  '  We  have  received  "  Gore  House" — they  of  course 
who  wish  for  literature,  especially  female  literature, 
will  look  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic."  He  then 
takes  one  of  the  most  glowing  passages  in  'Gore 
House,'  and  transposing  the  words  slightly,  passes  it 
off  for  editorial  in  his  own  columns. 

"  The  editor  of  '  The  Timbrel'  reads  Gore  House. 
He  has  a  female  relative,  Miss  Clementina  Clemates, 
whose  mission  she  thinks  is  to  be  an  authoress.  In 
furtherance  of  this  design  of  hers,  he  thinks  it  policy 
to  decry  all  other  rival  books.  So  he  says : 

"  '  We  have  read  "  Gore  House."  We  ought  to  say 
we  have  tried  to  read  it.  The  fact  is,  the  only  lady 
book  recently  published  that  we  can  heartily  recom 
mend  to  our  readers  ia  "  Sketches  of  the  Fireside,  by 
Clementine  Clemates." ' 

13 


290  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  The  editor  of  the  *  Dinsmore  Republican'  reacU  the 
book.  He  is  of  the  Don  Quixote  order,  goes  off  like 
an  old  pistol  half  primed,  whenever  the  right  chord  is 
struck.  Gore  House  takes  him  captive  at  once.  He 
wishes  there  were  a  tournament,  or  some  such  arrange 
ment,  by  which  he  could  manifest  his  devotion  to  and 
admiration  of  the  authoress.  He  throws  down  the 
book,  unties  his  neckcloth,  which  seems  to  be  strangling 
him,  loosens  his  waistband  button  to  give  his  breathing 
apparatus  more  play,  throws  up  the  window,  runs  his 
fingers  through  his  hair,  till  each  one  seems  as  charged 
with  electricity  as  a  lightning-rod,  and  then  seizing  his 
goose-quill,  piles  on  the  commendatory  adjectives  till 
your  modesty  exclaims,  in  smothering  agony,  '  Save  me 
from  my  friends,  and  I  will  take  care  of  my  enemies.'  " 

"  But  tell  me,"  said  Rose,  "  is  there  no  bright  side 
to  this  subject  you  can  depict  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Gertrude,  "  there  are  editors  who 
can  read  a  book  and  deal  fairly  and  conscientiously  by 
it  and  its  author,  who  neither  underrate  nor  overrate 
from  fear  or  favor,  who  find  fault,  not  as  an  escape- 
valve  for  their  own  petulance  or  indigestion,  but  gently, 
kindly,  as  a  wise  parent  would  rebuke  his  child — edi 
tors  on  whose  faith  you  can  rely,  whose  book  reviews 
are,  and  can  be,  depended  upon,  who  feel  themselves 
accountable  to  other  than  a  Tinman  tribunal  for  their 
discharge  of  so  important  a  public  trust." 

"  Well,"  said  Rose,  in  despair,  "  if  I  might  be  Sappho 


EOSE     CLARK.  291 

herself  I  could  not  run  such  a  gauntlet  of  criticism  as 
you  have  described," 

"  Far  happier  to  be  Cornelia  with  her  jewels,"  said 
Gertrude,  snatching  up  the  beautiful  Charley  (I  take  it 
Cornelia  had  a  glorious  husband).  "  Fame  is  a  great 
unrest  to  a  true  woman's  heart.  The  fret,  and  tu 
mult,  and  din  of  battle  are  not  for  her.  The  vulgar 
sneer  for  which  there  is  no  preventive,  save  the  unrec 
ognized  one  of  honor ;  the  impertinent  tone  of  famil 
iarity,  supposed  to  be  acceptable  by  those  to  whom  a 
woman's  heart  is  yet  a  sealed  book ;  what  are  tears 
to  oppose  to  such  bludgeon  weapons  ?  No,  the  fret 
and  din  of  battle  are  not  for  her ;  but  if,  at  the  call 
of  trumpet-tongued  necessity,  she  buckle  on  the  armor, 
let  her  fight  with  what  good  courage  her  God  may 
give  her,  valuing  far  above  the  laurel  crown,  when 
won,  the  loving  hearts  for  which  she  toils — which  beat 
glad  welcome  home." 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Miss  ANSTE  COOPER  was  a  maiden  lady  of  forty- 
two  ;  a  satellite  who  was  well  contented  to  revolve 
year  after  year  round  Madame  Vincent,  and  reflect 
her  golden  rays.  Madame  Vincent  had  been  a  beauty 
in  her  day,  and  was  still  tenacious  of  her  claims  to  that 
title.  It  was  Miss  Anne's  constant  study  to  foster  this 
bump  of  self-conceit,  and  so  cunningly  did  she  play 
her  part,  so  indignantly  did  she  deny  the  advances  of 
Old  Time,  that  madame  was  flattered  into  the  belief 
that  he  had  really  given  her  a  quit  claim. 

Miss  Anne's  disinterested  care  of  the  silver,  linen, 
and  store-room  was  quite  praiseworthy  to  those  who 
did  not  know  that  she  supplied  a  family  of  her  rela 
tives  with  all  necessary  articles  from  the  Vincent 
resources.  It  was  weary  waiting  for  the  expected 
codicil,  and  Miss  Anne  thought  "  a  bird  in  the  hand 
was  worth  two  in  the  bush ;"  so  if  she  occasionally 
abducted  a  pound  or  two  of  old  Hyson  or  loaf-sugar, 
or  a  loaf  of  cake,  or  a  pair  of  pies,  she  reasoned  her 
self  into  the  belief  that  they  were,  after  all,  only  her 
lawful  perquisites. 


EOSE     OLAKK.  293 

Yes,  it  was  weary  waiting  for  the  codicil.  Madame 
Vincent  was  an  invalid,  'tis  true  ;  but  so  she  had  been 
these  twenty  years,  having  one  of  those  india-rubber 
constitutions,  which  seem  to  set  all  medical  prece 
dents  at  defiance.  She  might  last  along  for  ten  years 
to  come — who  knew  ? 

Ten  years!  Miss  Anne  looked  in  the  glass;  the 
crow's-feet  were  planted  round  her  own  eyes,  and  it 
needed  no  microscope  to  see  the  silver  threads  in  her 
once  luxuriant  black  locks.  Not  that  Miss  Anne  did 
not  smile  just  as  sweetly  on  her  patroness  as  if  she 
would  not  at  any  time  have  welcomed  a  call  upon  her 
from,  the  undertaker.  Miss  Anne's  voice,  as  she  glided 
through  the  house  with  her  bunch  of  keys,  had  that 
oily,  hypocritical  whine  which  is  inseparable  from  your 
genuine  toady,  be  it  man  or  woman. 

Miss  Anne  sat  in  the  "  blue  chamber"  of  the  Vincent 
mansion — a  chamber  that  had  once  been  occupied  by 
young  Master  Vincent.  Whether  this  gave  it  a  charm 
in  the  lady's  eyes  or  no,  Miss  Anne  never  had  said. 
It  was  true  that  young  Master  Vincent,  when  he  had 
nothing  else  to  do,  amused  himself  with  irritating 
Miss  Anne  up  to  the  snapping-point.  They  scarce 
met  without  a  war  of  words,  half  jest,  half  earnest ; 
but  for  all  that,  young  Vincent's  every  wish  was  antici 
pated  by  Miss  Anne.  It  was  she  who  reinserted  the 
enameled  buttons  in  his  vests,  when  they  came  from 
the  laundress ;  it  was  she  who  righted  his  room,  and 


294  ROSE     CLAKK. 

kept  all  his  little  dandy  apparatus  (in  the  shape  of 
perfumes,  gold  shirt-buttons,  hair-oil,  watch-guards, 
rings,  etc.)  in  their  appropriate  places. 

Your  D'Orsay  abroad,  is  generally  a  brute  at  home  ; 
selfish,  sarcastic,  ill-tempered,  and  exacting  where  he 
thinks  it  does  not  pay  to  be  otherwise.  All  this  Miss 
Anne  turned  aside  with  the  skill  and  tact  of  a  woman ; 
occasionally  quite  quenching  him  with  her  witty  replies, 
and  forcing  him  to  laugh  even  in  his  most  diabolical 
moods.  To  be  sure  he  would  mutter  some  uncanoni- 
cal  words  after  it,  and  tell  her  to  go  to  the  torrid 
zone ;  and  Miss  Anne  would  smile  as  usual,  drop  a  low 
courtesy,  and  glide  from  his  presence ;  sometimes  to  go 
round  making  all  sorts  of  housekeeping  blunders ;  some 
times  to  sit  down  in  her  room,  with  her  hands  folded 
in  her  lap,  and  her  great  black  eyes  fixed  immovably 
on  the  carpet,  for  all  the  world  just  as  if  Miss  Anne 
were  in  love. 

Old  maids  have  their  little  thoughts ;  why  not  ? 

On  the  present  occasion,  as  I  have  said,  Miss  Anne 
sat  hi  "  the  blue  chamber."  She  was  paler  than  usual, 
and  her  Xantippe  lips  were  closed  more  firmly  together. 
The  thread  of  her  thoughts  seemed  no  smoother  than 
the  thread  between  her  fingers,  beside  breaking  which 
she  had  broken  six  of  Hemming's  best  drilled-eyed 
needles.  At  length,  pushing  the  stool  from  beneath 
her  feet,  she  threw  down  her  work  and  strode  impa 
tiently  up  and  down  the  apartment. 


ROSE     CLARK.  295 

"  To  be  balked  after  serving  this  Leah's  apprentice 
ship,  by  a  baby !  and  by  that,  baby !  I  could  love  it 
for  its  likeness  to  him,  did  it  not  stand  in  my  way.  It 
was  such  doll  faces  as  that  baby's  mother's  which  could 
fascinate  Vincent,  hey  ? — soulless,  passionless  little  au 
tomatons.  Ye  gods !  and  how  I  have  loved  him,  let 
these  sunken  eyes  and  mottled  tresses  bear  witness," 
and  Miss  Anne  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass.  "  That 
is  ah1  past  now ;  thank  heaven,  that  secret  dies  with 
me.  Who  would  ever  suspect  me  of  falling  in  love  ?" 
and  Miss  Anne  laughed  hysterically.  "  And  now  that 
hope  died  out,  that  baby  is  to  come  between  me  and 
my  expected  fortune ! 

"  Simple  Chloe !  She  little  thought,  when  she  re 
peated  to  me  what  she  called  '  her  young  mistress's 
crazy  ravings,'  that  I  could  c  find  a  method  in  that 
madness.'  Love  is  sharp-sighted ;  so  is  policy.  That 
baby  shall  never  come  here.  It  should  not,  at  any  rate, 
for  the  mother's  sake,  pretty  little  fool ! 

"  Madame  will 4  adopt'  the  baby,  forsooth  !  She  will 
fill  the  house  with  bibs  and  pinafores,  and  install  me  as 
head  nurse,  and  to  that  child  !  All  my  fine  castles  to  be 
knocked  down  by  a  baby's  puny  hand  !  We  shall  see. 

"  That  old  dotard,  to  adopt  a  baby  at  her  time  of 
life,  when  she  ought  to  be  thinking  of  her  shroud." 

"  Ah,  Anne,  you  there,"  said  a  voice  at  the  door, 
"  and  busy  as  usual  ?" 


296  ROSE     CLAEK. 

"  Yes,  dear  madame,  work  for  you  is  only  pastime." 

"You  were  always  a  good  creature,  Anne,"  and 
madame  tapped  her  affectionately  on  the  shoulder. 

"  How  very  well  you  are  looking  to-day,"  said  Anne. 
"  Mourning  is  uncommonly  becoming  to  you.  Becky 
and  I  were  saying  this  morning,  as  you  passed  through 
the  hall,  that  no  one  would  suppose  you  to  be  more 
than  thirty." 

"  S-i-x-t-y,  my  dear,  s-i-x-t-y,"  replied  the  old  lady, 
cautiously  closing  the  door ;  "  but  you  should  not  flatter, 
Annie." 

"  It  is  not  flattery  to  speak  the  truth,"  said  Anne, 
with  a  mock-injured  air. 

"  Well,  well,  don't  take  a  joke  so  seriously,  child ; 
what  every  body  says  must  be  true,  I  suppose,"  and 
madame  looked  complacently  in  the  glass. 

"  Anne,  do  you  know  I  can  not  think  of  any  thing 
but  that  beautiful  child  ?  Don't  you  think  his  resem 
blance  to  our  Vincent  very  remarkable  ?" 

"  Very,  dear  madame,  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at 
your  fancying  him.  He  is  quite  a  charming  little 
fellow." 

"Isn't  he,  though?"  exclaimed  madame,  with  a 
pleased  laugh ;  "  do  you  know  Anne  I  have  about  made 
up  my  mind  to  adopt  him  ?  I  shall  call  him  Vincent 
L'Estrange  Vincent." 

"  How  charming!"  said  Anne,  "how  interesting  you 
will  look ;  you  will  be  taken  for  his  mother." 


ROSE     CLATIK.  29*7 

"  Very  likely,"  said  madame.  I  recollect  we  were 
quite  an  object  of  attraction  the  day  we  rode  out  to 
gether  ;  I  think  I  am  looking  youthful  Anne." 

"No  question  of  it,  my  dear  madame— here — let 
me  rearrange  this  bow  in  your  cap ;  that 's  it ;  what 
execution  you  must  have  done  in  your  day,  madame." 

"I  had  some  lovers,"  replied  the  sexegenarian 
widow,  with  mock  humility,  as  she  twisted  a  gold  cir 
clet  upon  her  finger. 

"  If  report  speaks  true,  their  name  was  legion ;  I 
dare  say  there  is  some  interesting  story  now,  connected 
with  that  ring,"  suggested  Anne. 

"  Poor  Perry  !"  exclaimed  madame — "  I  didri>t  treat 
him  well ;  I  wonder  what  ever  came  of  him  ;  how  he 
used  to  sigh !  What  beautiful  bouquets  he  brought  me 
— how  jealous  he  was  of  poor  dear  Vincent.  I  was  a 
young,  giddy  thing  then ;  and  yet,  I  was  good-hearted, 
Anne,  for  I  remember  how  sorry  I  used  to  be  that  I 
could  n't  marry  all  my  lovers.  I  told  Perry  so,  one 
day  when  he  was  on  his  knees  to  me,  but  he  did  not 
seem  as  much  pleased  as  I  expected.  I  don't  think  he 
always  knew  how  to  take  a  compliment. 

"  Poor  Perry ! 

"  I  couldn't  help  liking  him,  he  had  such  a  dear  pair 
of  whiskers,  quite  a-la-corsair — but  Vincent  had  the 
money,  and  I  always  needed  such  a  quantity  of  dresses 
and  things,  Anne. 

"  Well — on  my  wedding-day,  Perry  walked  by  the 


298  ROSE     CLARK. 

house,  looking  handsomer  than  ever.  I  believe  the 
creature  did  it  on  purpose  to  plague  me.  He  had  on 
white  pants,  and  yellow  Marseilles  vest,  salmon-col 
ored  neck-tie,  and  such  a  pretty  dark-blue  body-coat, 
with  brass  buttons ;  such  a  fit !  I  burs^b  out  a  cry 
ing  ;  I  never  saw  any  thing  so  heart-breaking  as  that 
coat ;  there  was  not  a  wrinkle  in  it  from  collar  to  tail. 
I  don't  think  I  should  ever  have  got  over  it,  Anne, 
had  not  my  maid  Yictorine  just  then  brought  me  in  a 
set  of  bridal  pearls  from  Vincent;  they  were  really 
sumptuous. 

"  Poor  dear  Perry ! 

"  Well — I  was  engaged  to  him  just  one  night ;  and 
I  think  the  moon  was  to  blame  for  that,  for  as  soon  as 
the  sun  rose  next  morning,  I  knew  it  would  not  do.  He 
was  poor,  and  it  was  necessary  I  should  have  a  fine 
establishment,  you  know.  But  poor  Perry !  I  never 
shall  forget  that  blue  body-coat,  never — it  was  such  a 
fit!" 

"The  old  fool!"  exclaimed  Anne,  dismissing  the 
bland  smile  from  her  face  as  the  last  fold  of  madame's 
dress  fluttered  through  the  door ;  "  after  all,  she  might 
do  worse  than  to  adopt  this  child.  I  could  easier  get 
rid  of  that  baby  than  her  second  husband.  I  must 
rein  up  a  little,  with  my  flattery,  or  she  may  start  off 
on  that  track. 

"Poor  Perry,  indeed!"  soliloquized  Anne,  "what 
geeso  men  are !  how  many  of  them,  I  wonder,  have 


ROSE     CLARK.  299 

had  reason  to  thank  their  stars,  that  they  did  not  get 
what  their  hearts  were  once  set  on.  Well — any  will- 
o'-the-wisp  who  trips  it  lightly,  can  lead  any  Solomon 
by  the  nose ;  it  is  a  humiliating  fact ;"  and  Miss  Anne 
took  a  look  at  herself  in  the  glass ;  "  sense  is  at  a  dis 
count;  well,  it  is  the  greatest  compliment  the  pres 
ent  generation  of  men  could  have  paid  me,  never  to 
have  made  me  an  offer." 


CHAPTER  XIVI. 

"  AND  you,  then,  are  the  mother  of  the  beautiful 
child,  I  wish  to  adopt  ?"  asked  Madame  Vincent,  gaz 
ing  admiringly  at  Rose. 

Our  heroine's  long  lashes  drooped  upon  a  cheek  that 
crimsoned  like  the  heart  of  a  June  rose,  as  she  timidly 
answered : 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  You  are  extremely  pretty,  child,  and  very  young 
to  be  a  mother.  Have  you  any  other  children  ?" 

"  None,"  replied  Rose,  "  but  Charley." 

"  And  you  would  not  give  him  up  to  me  ?"  asked 
madame,  coaxingly.  "  Do  you  think  his  father  would 
object?" 

"  His  father  is  dead,  madame,"  said  Rose,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Pardon  me,  child,  I  did  not  know  that  you  were  a 
widow.  I  am  a  widow.  It  is  very  dull,  being  a 
widow ;  don't  you  think  so,  dear  ?  Did  your  husband 
leave  you  property  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Rose,  answering  the  inexcusable 
question,  for  she  could  not  bear  to  seem  disrespectful 
to  Vincent's  mother. 


ROSE     CLARK.  ,  SOI 

"  That  is  a  pity,  dear ;  my  husband  left  me  plenty. 
I  shall  will  it  all  to  Charley,  if  you  will  only  give  him 
up  to  me.  What  was  your  husband's  name,  dear." 

"  Vincent  L'Estrange  Vincent ;"  answered  Rose, 
startled  at  the  strange  sound  of  her  own  voice. 

"  Singular !  Same  name  as  my  son's,"  said  madame, 
"  Very  singular." 

"  He  icas  your  son ;"  said  Rose,  in  the  same  strange, 
cold  tone. 

"  My  son  never  was  married ;"  replied  madame. 

"  God  knows  he  told  me  we  were  so,  and  I  believed 
him,"  answered  Rose. 

"  He  made  believe  marry  you,  then,  did  he  ?"  ask 
ed  the  childish  old  lady.  "  He  did  that  to  a  great 
many  women,  I  believe.  Gentlemen  often  do  such 
things,  so  they  tell  me.  Your  child  is  of  course  illegit 
imate  then." 

Rose's  lips  moved,  but  no  answer  came. 

"  And  what  do  you  intend  to  do  with  him,  child  ?" 

"  Bring  him  up  to  despise  the  sin  of  which  his  father 
was  guilty,"  replied  Rose,  boldly. 

"  Oh  yes,  that 's  all  very  proper;  but  if  you  give  him 
to  me,  there  will  be  no  occasion  ever  to  mention  it  at 
all,  or  you  either,  child." 

"  Madame,"  said  Rose,  with  a  proud  dignity.  "  Is 
it  a  mother  who  speaks  to  a  mother  such  words  as 
these?  You  love  your  son  none  the  less  that  he 
made  my  name  a  reproach  and  a  by-word,  crimsoned 


302  ^  KOSE     CLARK. 

my  innocent  cheek  with  shame,  dimmed  my  eyes  with 
unavailing  tears.  Shall  I,  think  you,  love  my  son  the 
less  that  your  son  deserted  him  ?  Shall  I  love  my  son 
the  less  that  through  days  and  nights  of  tearful  an 
guish  his  smile,  his  love,  was  all  of  heaven  I  ever 
dared  to  look  for  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly  not — oh,  of  course  not,"  replied  the 
old  lady,  nervously;  "but  you  know  he  may  not 
always  love  you  as  well  as  he  does  now,  when  he 
knows — " 

"In  God  I  put  my  trust;"  said  Rose,  as  tears 
streamed  from  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  don't  cry,  child — don't  cry.  I  hate  to  see 
people  cry.  All  I  wanted  to  say  was,  that  you  would 
always  be  a  drag  on  him,  if  he  tried  to  rise  in  the 
world;  but  don't  cry.  It  is  right  for  you  to  trust  in 
God,  every  body  ought  to  be  pious,  it  is  so  respecta 
ble.  I  have  been  confirmed  myself;  but  don't  cry,  it 
will  spoil  your  handsome  eyes.  You  are  young  yet, 
perhaps  somebody  may  marry  you,  if  you  keep  quiet 
about  this." 

"I  would  never  so  deceive  any  man,"  answered 
Hose,  with  dignity. 

"  Deceive  !  oh,  no,  child,  that  would  be  very  wrong. 
I  only  meant  that  you  should  say  nothing  about  it ; 
that  is  a  different  thing,  you  see.  Now  I  loved  a  Mr. 
Perry  much  better  than  I  did  my  husband,  but  it  would 
have  baen  quite  foolish  had  I  allowed  it  to  be  known, 


ROSE     OLARK.  303 

you  know,  because*  Vincent  was  very  rich,  and  it  was 
necessary  I  should  have  a  handsome  establishment. 
Oh,  no  !  of  course  I  do  not  approve  of  deception,  that 
is  very  wrong,  but  there  are  cases  where  it  is  best  for 
a  woman  to  keep  quiet.  Well,  how  about  Charley  ? 
have  you  quite  decided  not  to  part  with  him  ?" 

"  Quite,"  said  Rose,  "  Charley  must  remain  with 
me ;"  and,  with  a  dignified  air,  she  bowed  madame  to 
her  carriage. 


CHAPTER    XIVII. 

"  A  REGULAR  little  romance,  I  declare,"  said  mad- 
ame,  laying  off  her  black  bonnet,  and  fanning  herself 
languidly,  "  quite  a  little  romance. 

"  Vincent's  boy !  no  wonder  he  is  so  handsome ;  no 
wonder  I  was  so  attracted  toward  him.  Vincent  was 
a  little  wild,  but  very  likely  that  young  thing  did  her 
part  of  the  courting.  She  is  very  handsome,  and,  with 
a  little  instruction  under  other  circumstances — with  a 
little  instruction  from  me,  I  say,  she  would  be  quite 
presentable  in  society. 

"  It  is  very  odd  she  would  not  give  up  Charley.  I 
thought  that  style  of  people  were  always  glad  to  get 
rid  of  their  children ;  in  fact,  I  think  it  her  duty  not  to 
stand  in  the  child's  light.  She  is  a  Puritanical  little 
puss,  and  quite  queenly,  too,  for  a  Magdalen.  I  was 
quite  dashed,  as  one  may  say,  once  or  twice,  by  her 
manner,  although  I  pride  myself  on  my  self-possession. 
She  is  really  quite  superior  to  her  station ;  but  Vincent, 
dear  boy,  always  had  indisputable  taste  ;  there  never 
was  a  taint  of  grossness  about  him. 

"  He  was  very  fastidious.     I  remember  I  put  off  his 


ROSE     CLAKK.  305 

father's  funeral  one  whole  day,  in  order  that  the  tailor 
might  alter  the  coat-collar  of  his  new  mourning-suit. 
Yes,  and  he  was  so  sensitive,  too,  poor  dear !  he  felt 
his  father's  death  so  much  that  he  was  obliged  to  go 
directly  from  the  grave  to  the  club-house,  to  dissipate 
his  mournful  thoughts. 

"  Ah  !  Anne,  is  that  you  ?  sit  down  ;  I  have  just  re 
turned.  Do  you  know,  the  mother  of  that  baby  refused 
to  give  him  up.  She  says  it  is  one  of  our  Vincent's  chil 
dren.  She  is  a  very  pretty  young  woman,  Anne — not 
a  high-bred  beauty,  of  course ;  that  you  never  see,  ex 
cept  in  aristocratic  circles,  still,  she  is  quite  pretty." 

"  Very,"  replied  Anne,  quite  nonchalently. 

"  Ha !  you  have  seen  her,  then  ?"  asked  madame, 
with  some  surprise. 

"My  dear  madame,  I  really  would  prefer  saying 
nothing  upon  the  subject.  I  answered  your  first  ques 
tion  frankly,  because  I  make  it  a  point  never  to  deceive 
you ;  but  I  really  wish  you  would  not  question  me,  I 
dislike  so  much  to  speak  ill  of  any  one." 

"  But  I  insist  upon  knowing,  Anne  ;  in  fact,  I  think 
it  is  quite  unkind  of  you  to  have  any  secrets  from  me, 
so  long  as  you  have  been  in  my  confidence,  too." 

"Ah,  well,  dear  madame,  if  you  insist,  I  suppose  I 
must  yield,  for  I  can  refuse  you  nothing.  The  person 
you  have  been  to  see  this  morning  is  an  arrant  impos 
tor.  She  is  playing  a  deep  game  with  you ;  her  refusal 
is  not  sincere  ;  she  expects  you  will  return  and  persist 


306  ROSE     CLARK. 

in  asking  for  Charley,  and  intends  then  to  make  money 
out  of  the  operation." 

"  Well,  she  is  very  much  mistaken,  then,"  said  the 
old  lady,  indignant,  as  easily  duped  people  are,  who 
always  fancy  themselves  a  match  for  any  double  and 
twisted  diplomatist,  "  very  much  mistaken,  for  I  shall 
never  go  near  her  again.  Then  that  story  was 
all  trumped  up  she  told  me  about  the  baby  being 
our  Vincent's." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Anne ;  "  I  tell  you,  my  dear 
madame,  she  has  played  that  game  on  several  people 
beside  you." 

"  Possible  ?"  said  the  old  lady,  fanning  herself  vio 
lently  ;  "  the  impudent  little  baggage !  But  how  did 
you  find  it  all  out,  Annie  ?" 

"Ah!  there,  you  must  really  excuse  me,  my  dear 
madame.  My  informant  is  so  afraid  of  being  involved, 
that  I  was  sworn  to  the  strictest  secresy  on  that  point, 
but,  I  asure  you,  my  authority  is  reliable." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  my  dear  Anne,  if  you  say 
so.  But  why  did  you  not  speak  of  it  before  ?" 

"Well,  that  was  my  first  impulse,  of  course;  but 
you  see  how  it  was.  I  was  placed  in  very  delicate  cir 
cumstances,  dear  madame.  Here  I  am  a  dependent  on 
your  bounty  ;  you  have  been  ^rays  like  a  kind  mother 
to  me  ;  your  heart  was  set  on  adopting  this  child ;  had 
I  opposed  it,  you  might  have  suspected  my  motives ; 
that  thought  was  too  painfnl  for  me ;  and  so,  up  to  this 


ROSE     CLARK.  807 

time,  when  you  extorted  it  from  me,  I  have  been  vacil 
lating,"  and  Anne  looked  lachrymose. 

"  You  dear,  good  creature,"  exclaimed  madame, 
"  you  always  had  the  best  heart  in  the  world.  You 
should  not  have  tortured  yourself  so  unnecessarily, 
Anne.  You  know  I  never  would  imagine  you  guilty 
of  such  mean  motives.  You  may  have  my  brown  silk 
dress,  Anne,  and  the  dark  blue  brocade.  I  had  never 
worn  either  when  I  was  called  into  mourning.  I  de 
clare,  Anne,  you  have  the  best  heart  in  the  world. 
You  need  not  blush  about  it,  child,"  said  madame,  as 
Anne  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief  to  con 
ceal  a  laugh.  "  You  are  too  modest  by  half,  Anne ; 
but  it  is  always  so  with  real  merit." 

"What  an  invaluable  creature  that  Anne  is,"  ex 
claimed  madame,  as  she  went  out  of  the  door  in  pur 
suit  of  the  brown  silk.  "  To  think  of  the  brazen-faced- 
ness  of  that  young  woman !  I  declare  I  could  not  have 
believed  any  body  could  tell  a  lie  with  such  an  inno 
cent  face.  It  is  really  almost  past  belief;  what  an  in 
valuable  creature  Anne  is.  I  never  should  be  able  to 
get  along  without  her.  I  must  go  to  Mme.  Descomb's 
and  select  her  a  new  dress  hat.  Just  to  think  now 
of  the  impudence  of  that  Rose. 

"  I  must  furnish  Anne  with  means  to  go  on  some 
little  excursion.  I  think  I  will  buy  her  that  pretty 
music-box  I  saw  yesterday. 


308  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  How  wide  awake  Anne  is  to  my  interests  !  Had 
it  not  been  for  her  I  might  have  been  taken  in  by  that 
scheming  young  woman.  I  hope  nobody  saw  me  go 
to  her  house ;  I  must  warn  Chloe  against  her,  it  will 
not  do  for  her  to  go  there  again." 


CHAPTER   XLVIII. 

ROSE  was  sitting  in  her  little  parlor  giving  Charley 
his  morning  bath ;  the  water  was  dripping  from  his 
polished  limbs,  and  he  was  laughing  and  splashing 
about  with  the  nude  grace  of  a  young  sea-god ; 
now  catching  his  breath,  as  his  head  was  immersed 
under  water;  now  shaking  back  his  dripping  curls, 
and  flashing  upon  you  his  dark  bright  eyes,  as  if  life 
were  all  sunshine,  and  his  infant  sky  were  cloudless. 

"  I  sail  inform  you  zat  you  can  leave  my  maisori — 
my  house — dis  morning,"  said  Rose's  French  landlady, 
entering  the  room  without  a  preliminary  rap.  "  You 
understand,  mademoiselle — dis  morning,  I  say — you 
are  von  bad  woman,  mademoiselle." 

Twice  Rose  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  the  color 
receded  from  her  lips  and  cheeks,  and  she  stood  terror- 
struck  and  speechless. 

"Zat  is  ah1  ver'  well,"  said  madame,  quite  accus 
tomed  to  see  her  country-women  strike  an  attitude. 
"  Zat  is  all  ver'  well ;  you  did  not  expect  I  sail  know 
any  ting  about  it,  but  one  personne  tell  me  zat  I  know ; 
you  can  go,  for  you  are  von  bad  woman." 


310  ROSE     CLARK. 

"What  is  all  this?"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  opening 
the  door  and  seeing  Rose's  pallid  face  and  madame's 
angry  gesticulations. 

"  Ah,  ha !  she  has  impose  on  you  too !"  exclaimed 
Madame  Macque.  "She  von  ver'  sly  woman — ver' 
bad ;  she  no'  stay  in  my  house  long  time." 

"  Woman!"  said  Gertrude,  throwing  her  arm  around 
Rose,  "this  is  my  sister;  every  word  you  speak 
against  her  you  speak  against  me.  She  is  as  pure  as 
that  sweet  child.  If  she  leaves  your  house,  I  leave  it." 

"  Ver'  well — tres  bien,"  said  madame,  shaking  her 
overloaded  French  head-dress;  "you  can  go,  den— von 
day  you  see  I  tell  you  de  truf  when  I  say  she  von — " 

"  Don't  repeat  that  again,  in  my  hearing,"  said  Ger 
trude,  standing  before  her  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  Speak,  Rose — dear  Rose  !"  said  Gertrude,  kissing 
her  cold  face,  as  madame  left  the  room.  "Speak, 
Rose ;  do  not  let  that  miserable  bundle  of  French 
trumpery  crush  so  pure  and  noble  a  heart  as  yours. 
We  will  go  away,  Rose — you,  and  I,  and  dear  little 
Charley.  And,  oh,  Rose  !  when  could  I  have  a  better 
time  to  plead  for  my  brother's  happiness,  for  yours,  for 
my  own  ?  Put  it  beyond  the  power  of  any  one  to 
poison  your  peace,  Rose  ;  be  indeed  my  sister." 

Rose's  only  reply  was  a  low  shuddering  sob,  as  she 
drew  closer  to  Gertrude. 

"Just  as  good  as  new,"  said  Miss  Anne,  looking 


HOSE     CLARK.  311 

complacently  at  herself  in  the  brown  silk.  "Anne, 
you  should  be  prime  minister ;  you  have  a  talent  for 
diplomacy ;  femininity  is  too  circumscribed  a  sphere 
for  the  exercise  of  your  talents.  You  did  that  well, 
Anne — Madame  Vincent  thrown  completely  off  the 
track,  Rose  crushed  and  out  of  your  way  forever;  the 
baby  ditto.  Madame  Macque  is  very  careful  of  her 
reputation  in  this  country,  because  she  never  had  any 
in  France.  Ha — ha,  Anne,  you  are  a  genius — and  this 
brown  silk  is  a  proof  of  it.  Now,  look  out  for  presents 
about  this  time,  for  your  star  is  at  its  culminating  point. 
Rose  has  beauty — has  she  ?  Yincent  fancied  her — did 
he  ?  A  rose's  doom  is  to  fade  and  wither — to  be 
plucked,  then  trodden  under  foot ;"  and  Miss  Anne 
laughed  one  of  her  Satanic  laughs. 


CHAPTER    XLIX. 

SALLY  came  into  the  kitchen  just  as  the  clock  was 
striking  seven.  The  Maltese  cat  heard  the  old  clock, 
jumped  up,  and  shook  herself,  just  as  if  her  dream  of 
a  ducking  at  the  hands  of  the  grocer-boy  were  true. 
Three  stray  cockroaches — cockroaches,  like  poor  rela 
tives,  will  intrude  into  the  best-regulated  families — 
scampered  before  Sally's  footsteps  to  their  hiding- 
places,  and  the  little  thieving  brown  mouse  on  the 
dresser  took  temporary  refuge  in  the  sugar-bowl. 

Sally  had  been  up  stairs  performing  her  afternoon 
toilet  by  the  aid  of  a  cracked  looking-glass,  which  had  a 
way  of  multiplying  Sally's  very  suggestive  to  her  crushed 
hopes.  Sally,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  had  been  jilted.  Milk 
men  do  not  always  carry  the  milk  of  human  kindness 
in  their  flinty  bosoms.  Time  was  when  Jack  Short 
never  came  into  the  kitchen  with  his  can,  without  toss 
ing  Sally  a  bunch  of  caraway,  or  fennel,  a  nosegay  of 
Bouncing  Bettys,  or  a  big  apple  or  pear.  Time  was 
when  his  whip-lash  always  Avanted  mending,  and  it  took 
two  to  find  a  string  in  the  closet  to  do  it,  and  two  pair 
of  hands  to  tie  it  on  when  found. 


ROSE     CLARK.  313 

"  Poor  old  thing !"  the  faithless  John  would  now  say 
to  the  rosy  little  plumptitude  who  had  won  his  heart 
away  from  the  angular  Sally  ;  "  Poor  old  thing  !  I  was 
only  fooling  a  little,  just  to  keep  my  hand  in,  and  she 
thought  I  was  in  love." 

Sally  had  as  much  spirit  as  the  rest  of  her  sex,  and 
so  to  show  John  that  she  was  quite  indifferent  about 
the  new  turn  in  then'  affairs,  she  set  the  milk-pan,  into 
which  he  was  to  pour  his  morning's  milk,  out  into  the 
porch,  and  closed  the  kitchen-door  in  his  false  face, 
that  he  might  have  nothing  upon  which  to  hinge  an 
idea  that  she  wanted  to  see  him.  And  more;  she 
tied  the  yellow  neck-ribbon  he  gave  her  on  the  last 
fourth  of  July  round  the  pump-handle,  and  if  John 
Short  had  not  been  blind  as  well  as  "  short,"  he  must 
have  seen  that  "when  a  woman  will — she  will,  you 
may  depend  on 't,"  and  "  when  a  woman  won't — she 
won't,  and  there 's  an  end  on 't." 

Poor  Sally,  before  she  saw  John,  had  lived  along 
contentedly  in  her  underground  habitations,  year  after 
year,  peeling  potatoes,  making  puddings,  washing, 
ironing,  baking,  and  brewing ;  nobody  had  ever  made 
love  to  her ;  she  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  a 
Champagne  draught  love  was.  She  could  have  torn 
her  hair  out  by  the  roots,  when  she  did  find  out, 
to  think  she  had  so  misspent  her  past  time.  It 
really  did  seem  to  her,  although  she  was  squint-eyed, 
that  there  was  nothing  else  in  this  world  of  any  ae- 
14 


314  ROSE     CLAKK. 

count  at  all.  She  had  thought  herself  happy  when  her 
bonnet  was  trimmed  to  suit  her,  or  her  gown  a  good 
fit ;  but  a  love-fit !  ah,  that  was  a  very  different  mat 
ter.  Poor  Sally !  mischievous  John ! — the  long  and 
short  of  it  was,  if  Bouncing  Bettys  have  any  floral 
significance,  Sally  should  have  been  Mrs.  Short. 

Of  course,  she  had  no  motive  on  the  afternoon  we 
speak  of,  to  look  long  in  the  cracked  looking-glass ;  it 
made  no  difference  now  whether  she  wore  her  brown 
calico  with  the  little  white  dots,  or  her  plaid  delaine 
with  the  bishop  sleeves ;  there  was  no  use  in  braiding 
her  hair,  or  in  putting  on  her  three-shilling  collar;  she 
had  resigned  herself  to  her  fate.  She  even  threw  a 
pitcher  of  hot  water  at  the  innocent  organ-grinder, 
because  he  played  Love's  young  Dream- 
Still  you  see,  she  goes  on  mechanically  with  her 
work,  putting  the  tea-kettle  over  the  fire,  setting  the 
six  brass  lamps  in  a  regular  row  on  the  mantle,  and 
tucking  the  ends  of  some  clean  towels,  out  of  sight, 
in  the  half-open  bureau-drawers.  Sally  is  neat;  but 
John  Short's  little  Patty  is  plump  and  rosy. 

Ah!  now  she  has  some  company — there  is  Miss 
Harriet  Place,  who  has  the  misfortune  to  have  so  stiff 
a  neck  that  when  she  turns  it,  her  whole  body  must 
follow.  Miss  Harriet  has  black  eyes,  affects  the  gen 
teel,  and  speaks  of  "  my  poor  neck"  in  a  little  minting 
way,  as  if  its  stiffness  were  only  a  pretty  little  affecta 
tion  on  her  part.  Her  cronies  wink  at  this  weakness, 


ROSE     CLABK.  315 

for  Miss  Harriet  has  a  gift  at  trimming  their  bonnets, 
and  putting  finishing  touches  to  all  sorts  of  feminine 
knicknacks  ;  then,  here  comes  Alvah  Kittridge,  who  is 
a  rabid  Free-will  Baptist,  and  who  lives  at  Mayor 
Treadwell's !  where  they  have  such  fine  dinners ;  at 
which  the  Mayor  drinks  a  great  deal,  and  "  finds  fault 
very  bad,"  with  every  thing  the  next  morning.  Miss 
Alvah  pays  her  way  as  she  goes,  both  in  stories,  and 
maccaroons;  the  former  her  own,  the  latter  Mayor 
Treadwell's. 

Last,  but  by  no  means  least,  comes  Mrs.  Becky 
Saffron,  ah1  cap-border  and  eyes,  the  only  other  notice 
able  thing  about  her  being  her  mouth,  which  displays, 
in  her  facetious  moods,  two  enormous  yellow  tusks, 
one  upper  and  one  under,  reminding  the  observer  of  a 
hungry  catamount ;  this  resemblance  scarce  diminishes 
on  acquaintance,  as  Mrs.  Becky,  like  all  the  skinny 
skeleton-ish  tribe,  is  capable  of  most  inordinate  guzzling 
and  gorging. 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Place,"  said  Mrs.  Becky 
(giving  her  cap-border  a  twitch),  and  getting  on  the 
right  side  of  that  stiff-necked  individual,  "  I  have  not 
set  eyes  on  you  these  six  months." 

"  No,"  minced  Miss  Place ;  "  I  called  at  your  board 
ing-house,  and  they  said  you  had  gone  somewhere,  they 
could  not  tell  where." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  nobody ;  of  course  they  would  n't  know ; 
I  'm  nobody.  I  Jm  down  in  the  world,  as  one  may  say. 


316  ROSE     CLARK. 

I'm  nobody  but  'Becky.'  I  come  and  go;  nobody 
cares,  especially  when  I  go?  and  Mrs.  Becky  gave  her 
two  yellow  tusks  an  airing. 

"  I  left  my  old  place  some  time  ago.  I  'm  to  broth- 
er's  now."  Mrs.  Becky  always  pronounced  the  first 
syllable  of  this  word  like  the  liquid  commonly  desig 
nated  by  that  syllable.  "  Yes,  I  'm  to  broth-exs  now. 
His  wife  never  wanted  me  in  the  house.  She 's  dread 
ful  pert  and  stuck-up,  for  all  she  was  nobody;  so  I 
have  always  been  boarded  out,  and  been  given  to  un 
derstand  that  my  room  was  better  than  my  company. 
But  something  queer  has  happened.  I  can't  find  out 
what,  only  that  brother  has  got  the  whip-rein  of  his 
wife  now,  and  has  it  all  his  own  way ;  so  he  came  and 
told  me  that  it  would  cost  less  for  him  to  keep  me  at 
St.  John's  Square  than  to  board  me  out;  so  there 
lam. 

"  It  is  no  use  for  broth-etfs  wife  to  teach  me  about 
silver  forks  and  finger-bowls,  about  not  doing  this,  or 
that,  or  t'  other  thing ;  can't  teach  an  old  dog  new 
tricks.  But  I  let  her  fret.  I  am  not  afraid  of  her  now, 
for  whenever  she  gets  on  her  high  horse,  broth-ex 
fetches  her  right  off  with  the  word  "  damages."  I  can't 
tell  for  the  life  of  me  what  it  means.  I  've  seen  her 
change  right  round  when  he  whispered  it,  as  quick  as  a 
weather-cock,  and  it  would  be  all  fair  weather  in  one 
minute.  It 's  curious.  How  do  you  like  your  new 
place,  Alvah  ?" 


ROSE     CLAEK.  317 

"  Places  are  all  about  alike,"  said  Alvah,  dejectedly. 
"  See  one,  you  see  all.  Damask  and  satin  in  the  par 
lor  ;  French  bedsteads  and  mirrors  in  my  lady's  cham 
ber,  and  broken  panes  of  glass  up  in  the  attic  ;  lumpy 
straw  beds,  coarse,  narrow  sheets,  torn  coverlets,  and 
one  broken  table  and  chair,  will  do  for  the  servants' 
room.  Always  fretting  and  fault-finding  too,  just  as  if 
we  had  heart  to  work,  when  we  are  treated  so  like 
dogs ;  worse  than  dogs,  for  young  master's  Bruno  has  a 
dog-house  all  to  himself,  and  a  nice  soft  bed  in  it ;  which 
is  more  than  I  can  say.  I  declare  it  is  discouraging," 
said  Alvah.  "  It  fetches  out  all  the  bad  in  me,  and 
chokes  off  all  the  good.  Mistress  came  down  the  other 
day  and  scolded  because  I  washed  myself  at  the  kitchen 
sink.  Well,  where  should  I  wash  ?  There  is  neither 
bowl,  pitcher,  wash-stand,  or  towels  furnished  in  my 
attic,  and,  after  cooking  over  the  fire  all  day,  it  is  n't 
reason  to  ask  any  body  not  to  wash  wherever  they  can 
get  a  chance.  It  don't  follow  that  I  like  dirt,  because 
I  have  to  do  dirty  work.  I  can't  put  clean  clothes  over 
a  soiled  skin.  I  feel  better-natured  wiien  I  am  clean— 
better-tempered  and  more  human  like.  When  I  firsl 
went  out  to  live,  I  was  conscientious  like  ;  but  now,  1 
know  it  is  wicked,  but  I  get  ugly  and  discouraged,  and 
then  I  don't  care.  I  say  if  they  treat  me  like  a  dog,  I 
shall  snatch  a  bone  when  I  can  get  it.  Mistress,  now, 
wants  breakfast  at  just  such  a  time.  She  is  too  stingy 
to  find  me  in  proper  kindling  for  my  fire,  so  in  course 


318  ROSE     CLARK. 

it  keeps  going  out  as  fast  as  I  light  it,  and  henders  me ; 
and  then  she  gets  in  a  fury  'cause  breakfast  don't  come 
up.  Well,  I  stood  it  as  long  as  I  could ;  now  I  pour 
lamp-oil  on  the  wood  to  make  it  kindle ;  that  does  the 
business.  I  reckon  it  isn't  no  saving  to  her  not  to 
buy  kindling.  I  know  it  is  n't  right ;  but  I  get  aggra 
vated  to  think  they  don't  have  no  bowels  for  us  poor 
servants." 

Mrs.  Becky  Saffron  paid  little  attention  to  this  narra 
tive.  There  was  more  attractive  metal  for  her  on  the 
tea-table,  upon  which  Sally  had  just  placed  some 
smoking  hot  cakes,  and  a  fragrant  pot  of  tea.  Mrs. 
Becky's  great  yellow  black  eyes  rolled  salaciously 
round  in  her  head,  and  her  two  tusks  commenced 
whetting  themselves  against  each  other,  preparatory  to 
a  vigorous  attack  on  the  edibles. 

"  Green  tea !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Becky,  after  the  first 
satisfactory  gulp — "not  a  bit  of  black  in  it — that's 
something  like ;"  and  untying  her  cap-strings,  she 
spread  her  white  handkerchief  over  her  lap,  and  gave 
herself  up  to  the  gratification  of  her  ruling  passion, 
next  to  gossip.  "  How  did  you  come  by  green  tea  in 
the  kitchen  ?"  asked  the  delighted  Mrs.  Becky. 

"Oh,  I  laid  in  with  the  housekeeper,"  answered 
Sally;  "she  has  dreadful  low  wages,  and  has  hard 
work  enough  to  get  even  that.  I  iron  all  her  muslins, 
and  she  finds  me  in  green  tea.  '  Live,  and  let  live,'  you 
know." 


BOSE     CLARK.  319 

"That  reminds  me,"  minced  Miss  Place,  who 
sometimes  set  up  for  a  wit,  "that's  what  I  read 
on  the  side  of  a  baker's  cart  the  other  day,  'Live, 
and  let  live;'  but,  unfortunately,  right  under  it  was 
written  4  Pisin  cakes !'  " 

About  half  an  hour  after  this,  Mrs.  Becky  choked 
over  her  sixth  cup  of  tea ;  Miss  Place's  pun  had  just 
penetrated  her  obtuse  intellect. 


CHAPTER   L 

MR.  FINCH  FLSTELS  TO  TOM-  CORDIS. 

"  DEAR  TOM, — 

"  The  next  best  thing  to  seeing  you,  you  witty 
dog,  is  reading  one  of  your  letters ;  but  accept  a  little 
advice  from  one  who  has  had  experience,  and  don't 
throw  away  so  many  good  things  on  one  individual ; 
economise  your  bon-mots,  my  dear  fellow,  spread  them 
over  your  private  correspondence  as  sparingly  as  they 
do  butter  on  bread  at  boarding-schools.  Ah !  you  will 
grow  wiser  by  and  by,  when  you  find  out  how  very 
rare  is  an  original  idea.  Why — we  literary  people,  if 
by  chance  we  improvise  one  in  conversation,  always 
stop  short  after  it,  and  turning  to  our  friends  say, 
'  Now  remember,  that 's  mine,  don't  you  use  it,  for  I 
intend  putting  it  in  my  next  book.' 

"  What  am  I  doing,  hey?  Living  by  my  wits, 
though  not  in  the  way  of  literature,  which  I  find  does 
not  pay ;  for  there  has  been  such  a  surfeit  of  poor 
books  that  even  a  good  one  is  now  eyed  with  suspi 
cion. 


ROSE     CLAKK.  S2t 

"At  present,  however,  I  am,  thanks  to  Mrs.  John 
Howe,  in  a  comfortable  state  of  wardrobe  and  purse. 
You  should  see  this  "Venus !  Who  can  set  bounds  to 
the  vanity  of  woman  ?  (This  is  in  Proverbs,  I  believe ; 
if  it  is  not  it  ought  to  be.)  At  any  rate,  woman's  van 
ity  is  the  wire  I  am  now  pulling,  to  keep  me  in  bread 
and  butter. 

"  Mrs.  John  Howe  is  old,  ugly,  and  shrewish ;  how 
she  would  rave,  if  she  saw  this  !  All  her  married  life, 
she  has  led  her  husband  by  the  nose.  John  is  a  good- 
natured,  easy  fellow,  with  no  brains  or  education  to 
speak  of.  Latterly,  something  has  turned  up  between 
them,  deuce  knows  what,  I  don't ;  but  Richard  is  him 
self  again,  smokes  when  and  where  he  likes,  and  goes 
round  like  the  rest  of  us. 

"  You  will  see  that  he  is  improving  when  I  tell  you 
that  he  has  bought  his  wife  off  to  mind  her  own  busi 
ness,  and  let  him  mind  his,  by  an  allowance  of  so  much 
a  year;  and  here's  where  the  interest  of  my  story 
comes  in,  my  dear  boy,  for  just  so  long  as  I  can  make 
Mrs.  John  believe  that  she  is  as  young  as  she  ever 
was,  (and  as  beautiful,  as  by  Jove !  she  never  was),  and 
that  I  can  not  exist  one  minute  out  of  her  presence, 
why  so  much  the  more  hope  there  is  for  my  tailor 
and  landlady,  confound  them !  En  passant:  I  dare  say 
you  might  wince  a  little  at  the  idea  of  being  supported 
by  a  woman;  that  only  shows  that  you  have  not 
yet  learned  to  recognize  '  the  sovereignty  of  the  indi- 


322  ROSE     CLARK. 

vicinal.'  But  the  best  thing  is  yet  to  come.  Mrs. 
John  imagines  herself  a  blue-stocking!  though  she 
can  not  spell  straight  to  save  her  life,  and  has  not  the 
remotest  idea  whether  Paris  is  in  Prussia  or  Ireland. 
You  should  hear  her  mangle  Italian,  which  she  has  just 
begun.  It  makes  my  very  hair  stand  on  end ;  I  see 
where  it  is  all  tending.  She  asked  me  the  other  day 
about  the  divorce  law;  as  if  I  would  marry  the  old 
vixen !  Never  mind,  so  long  as  the  money  holds  out  I 
shah1  hoodwink  her  even  in  this. 

"  Write  soon.  I  saw  little  Kate  last  week,  fresh  as 
a  Hebe,  and  beautiful  as  nobody  else  ever  was,  or  can 
be.  Pity  she  is  such  a  little  Puritan !  She  would  be 
irresistible  were  it  not  for  that  humbug.  I  live  in  hope 
that  contact  with  the  world,  and  intercourse  with  me, 
will  eradicate  this,  her  only  weakness.  Bless  her  sweet 
mouth,  and  witching  eyes. 

''  Yours,  as  usual, 

FINELS." 
14* 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  THE  dirge-like  sound  of  those  rapids,"  said  Rose,  as 
she  tossed  on  her  pillow  at  the  public-house,  at  Niagara, 
vainly  courting  sleep;  "it  oppresses  me,  Gertrude, 
with  an  indescribable  gloom." 

"  Your  nerves  are  sadly  out  of  tune,  dear  Rose ;  it 
will  be  quite  another  affair  to-morrow,  i.  e.,  if  the  sun 
shines  out.  Niagara's  organ-peal  will  then  be  music  to 
you,  and  the  emerald  sheen  of  its  rushing  waters — the 
rosy  arch,  spanning  its  snowy  mist — beautiful  beyond 
your  wildest  dream!  And  that  lovely  island,  too. 
Dear  Rose,  life,  after  all,  is  very  beautiful.  But  how 
cold  your  hands  are,  and  how  you  tremble  ;  let  me  try 
my  sovereign  panacea,  music ;"  and  drawing  Rose's 
head  to  her  breast,  Gertrude  sang — 

"Tarry  with  me,  oh,  my  Saviour! 

For  the  day  is  passing  by ; 
See  I  the  shades  of  evening  gather, 

And  the  night  is  drawing  nigh, 
Tarry  with  me !  tarry  with  me  I 

Pass  me  not  unheeded  by. 

"  Dimmed  for  me  is  earthly  beauty, 
Yet  the  spirit's  eye  would  fain 


JJ24  ROSE     CLARK. 

Beat  upon  Thy  lovely  features — 

Shall  I  seek,  dear  Lord,  in  vain  ? 
Tarry  with  me,  oh,  my  Saviour  I 

Let  me  see  Thy  smile  again. 

"  Dull  my  ear  to  earth-born  music ; 

Speak  Thou,  Lord !  in  words  of  cheer ; 
Feeble,  faltering,  my  footstep ; 

Leaps  my  heart  with  sudden  fear. 
Cast  Thine  arms,  dear  Lord,  about  me, 

Let  me  feel  Thy  presence  near  1" 

"  Poor  Rose,"  sighed  Gertrude,  as  she  kissed  her 
closed  lids,  laid  her  head  gently  back  upon  the  pillow, 
and  released  the  little  hand  within  her  own.  "  If  she 
could  only  bear  up  under  this  new  trial ;  she  is  so  pure 
and  good  that  the  thought  of  the  sin  the  world 
wrongly  imputes  to  her  is  wearing  her  life  away. 
This  journey,  which  I  hoped  would  do  so  much  for 
her,  may  fail  after  all.  Poor  wronged  Rose !  how  can 
it  be  right  the  innocent  should  thus  suffer  ?"  but  ere 
the  murmur  had  found  voice  the  answer  came : 

"  For  right  is  right,  since  God  is  G-od, 

And  right  the  day  must  win : 
To  doubt,  would  be  disloyalty — 
To  falter,  would  be  sin." 

And  laying  her  cheek  by  the  side  of  Rose,  Gertrude 
slept. 

The  next  day  was  fine,  and  the  faint  smile  on  Rose's 
pale  face  was  sweet  as  the  much  longed-for  sunlight. 


ROSE    CLARK.  325 

Our  travelers  descended  to  the  ample  drawing-room  of 
the  hotel  to  breakfast. 

Rose  glanced  timidly  about,  scanning  the  forms 
which  passed  before  her,  as  was  her  wont  at  a  new 
place,  and  then  the  unsatisfied  eye  drooped  beneath  its 
snowy  lid ;  and  they  who  had  been  struck  with  the 
pensive  beauty  of  her  face,  gazed  upon  it  unnoticed  by 
its  object,  whose  thoughts  were  far  away. 

The  tall  Indian  head-waiter  was  at  his  post,  as  pur 
veyor  of  corn-cakes  and  cofiee ;  and  excellently  well  as 
he  filled  it,  Gertrude  protested,  as  an  artist,  against  such 
a  desecration  of  his  fine  athletic  form  and  kingly  air. 

Human  nature  is  never  more  en  deshabille  than  in 
traveling  ;  and  Gertrude's  bump  of  mirthfulness  found 
ample  food  in  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  well-filled 
breakfast-table.  The  jaded  pleasure-seekers,  whose 
fashion-filmed  eyes  were  blind  to  natural  beauty,  were 
talking  of  "  doing  the  Falls  in  one  hour."  The  little 
new-made  bride  sat  there  with  love-swimming  eyes,  in 
nocently  expecting  to  escape  detection  in  the  disguise 
of  a  plain  brown  traveling-dress :  pretty  little  simple 
ton  !  and  casting  such  tell-tale  glances  at  her  new  hus 
band,  too !  The  half-fledged  "  freshman"  was  there, 
with  his  incipient  beard  and  his  first  long-tailed  coat, 
making  love  and  bad  puns  to  a  knot  of  his  sister's  mis 
chief-loving  female  friends. 

In  came  the  pompous  city  aristocrat,  all  dignity  and 
shirt- collar,  following  his  abdomen  and  the  waiter  with 


326  ROSE     CLARK. 

measured  steps  and  supercilious  glance,  to  the  court- 
end  of  the  table.  There,  too,  was  the  pale  student, 
feasting  his  book-surfeited  eyes  on  the  pleasanter  page 
of  young  beauty's  April  face.  There,  too,  the  unso 
phisticated  country  girl,  too  anxious  to  pleases  exhaust 
ing  all  her  toilet's  finery  on  the  breakfast-table.  There, 
too,  the  poor  dyspeptic,  surveying  with  longing  eye 
the  tabooed  dainties,  for  which  he  must  pay  to  Dame 
Nature  if  he  ate,  and  to  the  landlord  whether  or  no. 

"  Your  spirits  are  at  high- water  mark  this  morning," 
said  John  to  his  sister,  as  Gertrude's  quick  eye  took 
these  notes  of  her  neighbors.  "  I  think  you  have  made 
up  your  mind  not  to  grow  old.  You  look  as  handsome 
as  a  picture,  this  morning." 

"  As  an  artist,  allow  me  to  tell  you  that  your  com 
pliment  is  a  doubtful  one,"  said  Gertrude.  "  And  as 
to  old  age,  which  is  such  a  bugbear  to  most  of  my 
sex,  I  assure  you  it  has  no  terrors  for  me.  My  first 
gray  hair  will  excite  in  me  no  regretful  emotions." 

"  Ah !  you  can  well  afford  to  be  philosophic  now," 
retorted  John,  touching  the  shining  curls  around  his 
sister's  face. 

"  You  don't  believe  me  ?  I  assure  you  that  the 
only  terror  old  age  has  for  me  is  its  helplessness  and 
imbecility.  My  natural  independence  revolts  at  being 
a  burden  even  to  those  whom  I  love ;"  and  Gertrude's 
tone  had  a  touch  of  sadness  in  it.  "  You  remember 
old  Aunt  Hepsy,  John  ?  how  long  her  body  outlived 


ROSE     CLARK.  327 

her  mind ;  how  at  eighty  years  she  would  beg  for  tin 
carts,  and  soldiers,  and  rag  dolls,  and  amuse  herself  by 
the  hour  with  them,  like  a  little  child.  This,  I  confess, 
is  humiliating.  In  this  view  I  can  truly  say  I  dread  old 
age.  But  the  mere  thinning  of  the  luxuriant  locks,  the 
filming  of  the  bright  eye,  the  shrinking  of  the  rounded 
limbs,  these  things  give  me  no  heart-pangs  in  the  antic 
ipation.  I  can  not  understand  the  sensitiveness  with 
which  most  men  and  women,  past  the  season  of  youth, 
hear  their  age  alluded  to.  It  certainly  can  be  no 
secret,  for  if  Time  deal  gently  with  them  the  family 
register  will  not ;  and  if  the  finger  of  vanity  obliterate 
all  traces  of  the  latter,  some  toothless  old  crone  yet 
hobbles,  who,  forgetful  of  every  thing  else,  yet  remem 
bers  the  year,  week,  day,  minute,  and  second  in  which 
(without  your  leave)  you  were  introduced  to  life's 
cares  and  troubles. 

"  Beside,  old  age  need  not  be  repulsive  or  unlovely," 
said  Gertrude ;  "  look  at  that  aged  couple,  yonder ! 
How  beautiful  those  silver  hairs,  how  genuine  and 
heart- warming  the  smile  with  which  they  regard  each 
other !  To  my  eye,  there  is  beauty  on  those  furrowed 
temples,  beauty  in  those  wrinkled  hands,  so  kindly 
outstretched  to  meet  each  other's  wants.  Life's  joys 
and  sorrows  have  evidently  knit  their  hearts  but  more 
firmly  together.  What  is  the  mad  love  of  youthful 
blood  to  the  sun-set  effulgence  of  their  setting  lives  ? 
God  bless  them !"  said  Gertrude,  as,  kindly  leaning  one 


228  EOSK     CLARK. 

render  myself  useful,  met  with  a  rude  rebuff.  I  could 
not  understand  it  then.  I  see  now  that  it  was  the 
rough  but  involuntary  tribute  which  uneducated  minds 
involuntarily  paid  to  a  more  refined  one.  Yet  why 
should  they  feel  thus  ?  If  I  could  have  taught  them 
many  things  I  had  learned  from  books,  they,  on  the 
other  hand,  could  have  initiated  me  into  the  practical 
duties  of  every-day  life,  without  a  knowledge  of  which 
any  woman  is  in  a  pitiable  state  of  helplessness,  for 
though  she  may  be  rich  enough  to  have  servants,  she 
is  yet  at  their  mercy,  for  if  she  chooses  to  order  a 
certain  pudding  for  dinner,  they  may  make  a  reply, 
which  her  ignorance  can  not  controvert,  as  to  the  time 
necessary  to  prepare  it,  or  the  quantity  of  ingredients, 
not  on  hand,  to  make  it. 

"Deprived  of  my  books,  my  mind  preyed  upon 
itself.  I  wandered  off,  in  my  leisure  hours,  in  the 
woods  and  fields,  and  built  such  air-castles  as  architects 
of  sixteen  are  apt  to  construct.  So  fond  I  became  of 
my  wood-rambles  in  all  weathers,  and  talking  to  my 
self  for  want  of  company,  that  an  old  lady  in  the 
village  asked  Mrs.  Bluff,  with  the  most  commiserating 
concern,  '  if  it  was  n't  a  heap  of  trouble  to  look  after 
that  crazy  critter  ?' 

"  I  had  been  at  Greytown  about  a  year  when  a  new 
pastor  was  settled  over  the  village  church.  It  was  an 
event  commensurate  with  the  taking  of  Sebastopol. 
There  was  not  an  unwedded  female  in  the  parish,  ray 


ROSE     CLARK.  229 

cousins  included,  who  did  not  give  him  a  call  :«n  the 
most  unmistakable  manner.  What  with  utter  disgust 
at  these  open  advances,  and  renewed  signs  of  hostility 
on  the  part  of  my  cousins  since  his  advent,  I  resolved 
to  absent  myself  on  the  occasion  of  every  parochial 
call,  and  to  confine  my  eyes  to  the  pew  crickets  on 
Sunday. 

"  The  barriers  which  my  obstinacy  thus  built  up 
chance  threw  down.  City  bred  as  I  was,  I  had  an 
extraordinary  gift  at  climbing  trees  and  scaling  fences. 
In  one  of  my  rambles,  trusting  too  much  to  my  agile 
ankles,  when  climbing  over  a  stone  wall,  I  lost  my  foot 
hold,  and  was  precipitated  to  the  ground,  bringing 
down  a  large  stone  upon  my  foot.  The  pain  was  so 
great  that  I  fainted. 

"  When  I  came  to  myself,  the  minister  was  bathing 
my  face  with  some  water  he  had  brought  from  a  brook 
near  by.  I  roused  myself,  and  after  making  several 
ineffectual  attempts  to  bear  my  own  weight,  was 
obliged  to  accept  his  offered  arm.  I  was  vexed  to 
have  been  seen  in  so  awkward  a  predicament,  vexed 
that  the  dread  of  the  storm  that  was  sure  to  burst  on 
my  head  on  my  appearance  with  him  at  my  aunt's, 
should  render  me  incapable  of  even  the  most  common 
place  conversation.  For  some  reason  or  other,  he 
seemed  equally  embarrassed  with  myself,  and  I  shut 
myself  up  on  reaching  home,  to  give  full  vent  to  my 
mortification.  From  that  moment  I  endured  every 


330  ROSE     CLAKK. 

mermaids;  disinterested  owners  of  spy-glasses  'anx 
ious  you  should  get  the  best  view.'  I  tell  you,"  said 
Gertrude,  "  for  a  damper  the  spray  is  nothing  to  it ! 
You  must  be  content  to  cork  up  your  enthusiasm  till 
these  i  horse-leech'  gentry  are  appeased. 

"  Do  you  know,  John,  that  my  '76  blood  was  quite 
up  to  boiling-point  the  first  tune  I  came  here,  when  the 
toll-keeper  on  the  Canada  side  demanded  what  was  my 
business,  and  how  long  I  intended  to  stay  over  there?" 

"  I  can  fancy  it,"  said  John,  laughing ;  "  did  you  an 
swer  him  ?" 

"]STot  I,"  said  Gertrude,  "until  I  had  ascertained 
that  the  same  catechetical  rule  held  good  on  the 
American  side.  Nevertheless,  I  would  be  willing  to 
wager  that  I  could  smuggle  any  thing  I  pleased  into 
Her  Majesty's  dominions  under  the  toll-keeper's  very 
nose,  had  I  a  mind  to  try  it. 

"I  wonder,"  continued  Gertrude,  after  a  pause,  "could 
one  ever  get  used  to  Niagara  ?  Could  its  roar  be  one's 
cradle  lullaby  and  the  spirit  not  plume  itself  for  lofty 
flights  ?  Could  one  look  at  it  when  laughing  to  scorn 
stern  winter's  fetters,  as  did  Sampson  the  impotent 
green  withes  of  the  Philistines,  dashing  on  in  its  might, 
though  all  Nature  beside  lay  wrapped  in  old  winter's 
winding-sheet?  see  it  accepting,  like  some  old  des 
pot,  the  tribute  of  silver  moon-beams,  golden  sun-rays, 
and  a  rainbow  arch  of  triumph  for  its  hoary  head  to 
pass  under ; — ever  absolute — unconquerable — omnipo- 


EOSE     CLAEK.  331 

tent— eternal — as  God  himself!  Could  this  be  the  first 
leaf  turned  over  in  Nature's  book  to  the  infant's  eye, 
and  not  make  it  unshrinking  as  the  eagle's  ? 

"  Hark !  what  is  that  ?"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  starting 
to  her  feet,  and  bounding  forward  with  the  fleetness  of 
a  deer. 

Oh,  that  shriek ! 

High  it  rose  above  Niagara's  wildest  roar,  as  the 
foaming  waters  engulfed  its  victim  !  In  the  transit  of 
a  moment,  they  who  for  fourscore  years  and  ten, 
through  storm  and  sunshine,  had  walked  side  by  side 
together,  were  parted,  and  forever !  "With  the  half- 
uttered  word  on  his  lip — with  the  love-beam  in  his  eye 
— he  "  was  not !" 

"  God  comfort  her,"  sobbed  Gertrude,  as  the  aged 
and  widowed  survivor  was  carried  back  insensible  to 
the  hotel.  "  How  little  we  thought  this  morning,  when 
looking  at  their  happy  and  united  old  age,  that  Death 
would  so  unexpectedly  step  between ;  and  still  Niagara's 
relentless  waters  plunge  down  the  abyss,  shroud  and  se- 
pulchcr  to  the  loved  and  lifeless  form  beneath  ?" 

Serene  as  the  sky  when  the  thunder-cloud  has  rolled 
away,  calm  as  the  ocean  when  the  moon  has  lulled  its 
crested  waves  to  sleep,  smiling  as  earth  when  from  off 
its  heaving  bosom  the  waters  of  the  flood  were  rolled, 
leaning  on  Him  who  is  the  "widow's  God  and  Husband," 
the  aged  mourner  whispered,  "  It  is  well." 


332  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  God  has  "been  so  good  to  me,"  she  said  to  Gertrude. 
"  He  has  lifted  the  cloud  even  at  the  tomb's  portal. 
Listen,  my  child,  and  learn  to  trust  in  Him  who  is  the 
believer's  Rock  of  Ages. 

"  The  first  years  of  my  wedded  life  were  all  bright 
ness.  We  were  not  rich,  but  Love  sweetens  labor,  and 
so  that  we  were  only  spared  to  each  other  (my  husband 
and  I),  for  us  there  could  be  no  sorrow.  Children 
blessed  us,  bright,  active,  and  healthy,  and,  hugging 
my  idols  to  my  heart,  I  forgot  to  look  beyond.  I  saw 
the  dead  borne  past  my  door,  but  the  sunshine  still  lay 
over  my  own  threshhold.  I  saw  the  drunkard  reel 
past,  but  my  mountain  stood  strong  !  As  I  rocked  my 
baby's  cradle,  my  heart  sang  to  its  sweet  smile — earth 
only  seemed  near,  eternity  a  great  way  off.  To-day  I 
knew  was  bliss — the  future,  what  was  it  ?  A  riddle 
which  puzzled  the  wisest;  and  I  was  not  wise,  only 
happy.  Alas,  the  worm  was  creeping  silently  on  to 
ward  the  root  of  my  gourd.  It  was  c  the  worm  of  the 
still.'  One  by  one  its  leaves  fell  off.  Silently  but  re 
lentlessly  he  did  his  blighting  work.  Where  plenty 
ruled,  poverty  came — clouds  in  place  of  sunshine — sobs 
for  smiles — curses  for  kisses — tears  for  laughter. 

"  Bitter  tears  fell  when  they  rolled  by  me  in  their 
carriages,  whose  wealth  was  coined  from  my  heart's 
blood  ;  but  I  did  not  chide  him;  I  toiled  and  sorrowed 
on,  for  still  I  loved.  I  know  not  where  the  strength 
came  to  labor,  still  I  found  my  babes  and  him  bread  ; 


ROSE     CLAKK.  333 

but,  as  week  after  week  rolled  by,  and  the  reeling 
form  still  staggered  past  me,  my  heart  grew  faint  and 
sick ;  for  the  hand  which  had  never  been  raised  save 
to  bless  us,  now  dealt  the  cruel  blow ;  and  the  children 
who  had  been  wont  to  wait  for  his  coming,  and  to 
climb  his  knee,  now  cowered  when  they  heard  his  un 
steady  footsteps.  Each  day  I  hoped  against  hope,  for 
some  change  for  the  better,  but  it  came  not. 

"  One  day  a  thought  occurred  to  me  by  which  I 
might  perchance  keep  the  demon  at  bay;  I  would 
watch  the  moment  at  which  this  craving  thirst  took 
possession  of  my  husband.  I  would  give  him  a  substi 
tute  in  the  shape  of  strong  hot  chocolate,  of  which  he 
was  inordinately  fond ;  I  denied  myself  every  comfort 
to  procure  it.  I  prepared  it  exactly  to  his  taste — it 
was  ready  to  the  minute  that  the  tempting  fiend  was 
wont  to  whisper  in  his  ear.  I  was  first  upon  the  ground ; 
I  forestalled  the  demon.  The  sated  appetite  heeded  not 
his  Judas  entreaties.  My  husband  smiled  on  me  again, 
he  called  me  his  saviour,  his  preserver ;  he  again  entered 
the  shop  of  his  employer ;  it  was  near  the  house,  so  it 
was  easy  for  me  to  run  over  with  the  tempting  bever 
age  ;  I  watched  him  night  and  day ;  I  anticipated  his 
every  wish ;  my  husband  was  again  clothed,  and  in  his 
right  mind;  we  both  learned  our  dependence  on  a 
stronger  arm  than  each  other's.  Riches  came  with 
industry,  our  last  days  were  our  best  days. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  child,"  and  the  old  lady  smiled 


334  EOSE     CLAKK. 

through  her  tears,  "  there  is  music  to  my  ears,  even  in 
those  rushing  waters,  for  he  who  sleeps  beneath  them 
fills  no  drunkard's  grave.  What  matters  it  by  what 
longer  or  shorter  road  we  travel,  so  that  heaven  be 
gained  at  last  ?" 


CHAPTER   III. 

"  DID  I  not  tell  you  that  old  age  was  beautifiil  ?"  ex 
claimed  Gertrude,  to  Rose,  as  they  sought  the  privacy 
of  their  own  apartments.  "  The  world  talks  of  '  great 
deeds'  (ambition-nurtured  though  they  be),  yet  who 
chronicles  these  beautiful  unobtrusive  acts  of  feminine 
heroism  beneath  hundreds  of  roof-trees  in  our  land  ? 
too  common  to  be  noted,  save  by  the  recording  angel ! 
Now  I  understand  the  meaning  of  Solomon's  words, 
'  Blessed  is  the  man  who  hath  a  virtuous  wife,  for  the 
number  of  his  days  shall  be  doubled.' 

"  Confess  you  are  better,  ma  petite?  and  Gertrude 
kissed  Rose's  pale  forehead ;  "  nothing  better  helps  us 
to  bear  our  own  troubles  than  to  learn  the  struggles 
of  other  suffering  hearts,  and  how  many  unwritten 
tragedies  are  locked  up  in  memory's  cabinet,  pride  only 
yielding  up  the  keys  to  inexorable  death ! 

"  Sometimes,  Rose,  when  I  am  mercilessly  at  war 
with  human  nature,  I  appease  myself  by  jotting  down 
the  good  deeds  of  every  day's  observation ;  and  it  has 
been  a  tonic  to  my  fainting  hopes  to  have  seen  the 
poor  beggar  divide  his  last  crust  with  a  still  poorer 


336  ROSE     CLARK. 

one  who  had  none ;  to  see  the  sinewy  arm  of  youth 
opportunely  offered  in  the  crowded  streets  to  timorous, 
feeble,  and  obscure  old  age  ;  to  see  the  hurried  man  of 
business  stop  in  the  precious  forenoon  hours,  to  hunt 
up  the  whereabouts  of  some  stray  little  weeping 
child ;  or  to  see  the  poor  servant-girl  bestow  half  her 
weekly  earnings  in  charity.  These  things  restore  my 
faith  in  my  kind,  and  keep  the  balance  even,  till  some 
horribly  selfish  wretch  comes  along  and  again  kicks 
the  scales ! 

"  And  now  Charley  must  needs  be  waking  up  there 
— see  him!  looking  just  as  seraphic  as  if  Tie  never 
meant  to  be  a  little  sinner !  The  tinting  of  a  sea-shell 
could  not  be  more  delicate  than  that  cheek ;  -see  the 
faultless  outline  of  his  profile  against  the  pillow ;  look 
at  his  dimpled  arms  and  fat  little  calves ;  and  that  little 
plump  cushion  of  a  foot.  Was  there  ever  any  thing  so 
seducing  ?  I  wish  that  child  belonged  to  me. 

"  See  here,  Rose,  look  at  those  ladies  pacing  up  and 
down  the  long  hall,  armed  for  conquest  to  the  teeth. 
What  an  insatiable  appetite  for  admiration  they  must 
needs  have,  to  make  such  an  elaborate  toilet  in  the 
dog-days !  Nothing  astonishes  me  like  the  patient  en 
durance  of  these  fashionists  at  the  watering-places ; 
prisoning  themselves  within  doors  lest  the  damp  air 
should  uncurl  a  ringlet ;  wearing  gloves  with  the  ther 
mometer  at  ninety  in  the  shade  ;  soliciting  wasp-waists 
in  the  very  face  of  consumption.  They  are  what  I  call 


ROSE     CLARK.  337 

4  the  working  people ;'  for  your  mechanic  has  the  lib 
erty  of  cooling  himself  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  your 
sempstress,  though  Nature  may  have  furnished  her  no 
hips,  does  not  perspire  in  interminable  piles  of  skirts. 
Rose,  imagine  the  old  age  of  such  -women — no  re 
source  but  the  looking-glass,  and  that  at  last  casting 
melancholy  reflections  in  their  faces.  Not  that  vanity 
is  confined  to  the  female  sex — (Come  in,  John,  you  are 
just  in  tune).  I  am  about  to  give  you  an  exemplifica 
tion  of  the  remark  I  have  just  hazarded,  in  the  history 
of  Theodore  Vanilla. 

"River  House  was  full  of  summer  boarders  when  I 
first  saw  him  there ;  nursery-maids  and  children  ad 
infinitum;  ladies  in  profusion,  whose  husbands  and 
brothers  went  and  returned  morning  and  evening  to 
their  business  in  the  city. 

"  Of  course  the  ladies  were  left  to  themselves  in  the 
middle  of  the  day,  and  some  of  the  most  mischievous 
verified  the  truth  of  the  old  primer-adage ;  that c  Satan 
finds  some  mischief  -still  for  idle  hands  to  do.'  Theo 
dore  was  their  unconscious  butt,  and  they  made  the 
most  of  him. 

"  Every  evening  they  assembled  on  the  piazza 
when  fthe  cars  came  in,  and  c  hoped,'  with  anxious 
faces,  c  that  Mr.  Vanilla  had  not  concluded  to  re 
main  over  night  in  the  city.'  The  self-satisfied  smile 
with  which  he  would  step  up  on  the  piazza  rub  his 

hands,  and  his 

15 


338  ROSE     CLAKK. 

" '  N"ow  really,  ladies,* 

"  As  he  turned  delightedly  from  one  to  the  other, 
were  a  picture  for  Hogarth. 

"  Then  after  tea  there  was  a  preconcerted  dis 
pute  among  them,  which  should  monopolize  him 
'for  their  evening  walk;'  and  the  innocence  with 
which  he  would  reply  to  all  this  fore-ordained 
wrangling, 

" 4  Now  ladies  dortt  quarrel,  and  I  '11  engage  to 
take  turns  with  you,' 

"Was  too  much  for  mortal  risibles.  One  lady 
would  affect  the  sulks  that  'he  did  not  sit  next  her 
at  table;'  another,  that  che  did  not,  like  a  true 
knight,  wear  her  colors  in  the  hue  of  his  cravat.' 
Enveloped  in  his  panoply  of  self-conceit,  he  was  tossed 
back  and  forth  on  this  female  hornet's-nest,  an  agon 
ized,  but  delighted  victim. 

"  On  one  occasion  a  gentleman,  jealous  for  his  sex's 
honor,  whispered  to  one  of  the  lady  ringleaders — 

" '  You  are  too  relentless ;  I  really  think  this  is 
wrong.' 

" '  Do  you !>  answered  the  pretty  tyrant,  with  an 
arch  smile ;  '  I  will  engage  one  could  throw  just  such 
a  dust  in  the  eyes  of  any  gentleman  you  might  select 
in  this  house  (including  yourself),  even  with  this 
example  before  your  and  their  eyes.'" 

"  Gertrude,"  said  John,  reprovingly,  "  do  you  re 
member  what  Solomon  says — 


ROSE     CLARK.  339 

" '  A  wise  woman  have  I  not  found  ?' " 
"John,"  mimicked  Gertrude,  "do  you  know  the 
reason  of  Solomon's  failure  ?    It  was  because  he  met 
with  a  pretty  woman,  and  forgot  to  look  for  a  wise 
one  1" 


CHAPTER   LIII. 

"GooD  evening,  Balch.  Bless  me!  how  gloomy 
you  look  here,  after  coming  from  the  glare  and  music 
of  the  opera,  its  ladies  and  its  jewels ;  you  are  as  good 
as  a  nightmare,  sitting  there  with  your  one  bachelor 
candle,  keeping  that  miserable  fire  company.  One 
would  think  your  veins  were  turned  to  ice,  or  that 
there  was  not  a  bright  eye  left  in  the  world  to  make 
the  blood  leap  through  them.  Turn  up  the  gas,  sing 
us  a  song,  hand  out  a  cigar ;  you  are  as  solemn  as  a 
sexton." 

"  I  dare  say,"  replied  Balch,  in  a  melancholy  key,  as 
he  languidly  turned  on  the  gas  for  his  friend,  and  set 
a  box  of  cigars  before  him.  "  I  know  I  am  not  good 
company,  so  I  shall  not  advise  you  to  stay." 

"  A  woman  in  the  case,  I  dare  be  sworn,"  said  Ger- 
ritt,  lighting  a  cigar,  "  Lord  bless  'em,  they  are  always 
at  the  top  and  bottom  of  every  thing !" 

Balch  gave  the  anthracite  a  poke,  crossed  his  slip 
pered  feet,  folded  his  arms,  and  looked  at  Gerritt. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  Gerritt.  "  I  am  acquainted  with 
all  tbe  symptoms  of  that  malady ;  let 's  have  it,  Balch ; 


EOSE     CLARK.  341 

you  can  tell  me  nothing  new  in  the  way  of  woman's 
twistings  and  turnings.  Bless  'em !" 

"  Bless  'em  ?"  exclaimed  Balch,  unfolding  his  arms, 
placing  both  hands  on  his  knees  and  staring  in  Ger- 
ritt'sface.  "Bless  'em ?» 

"  Yes ;  bless  'em.  I  knew  what  I  was  saying,  well 
enough.  Bless  'em,  I  repeat,  for  if  they  do  not  give  a 
man  more  than  five  rapturous  moments  in  a  life  tune, 
it  is  well  worth  being  born  for.  Fact ;"  said  Gerritt, 
as  the  speechless  Balch  continued  gazing  at  him. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Mrs.  Markham  ?"  asked  Balch, 
finding  voice. 

The  solemnity  with  which  he  asked  the  question, 
and  his  whole  tout  ensemble  at  that  moment,  was  too 
much  for  Gerritt,  who  burst  into  an  uproarious  laugh. 

"  Ah,  you  may  laugh,"  said  Balch,  "  it  is  all  very 
well ;  but  I  wish  there  was  not  a  woman  in  the  world." 

"  Horrible !"  said  Gerritt.  "  I  shan't  join  you  there; 
but  who  was  this  Mrs.  Markham  ?" 

Balch  moved  his  chair  nearer  to  Gerritt,  and  shut 
ting  his  teeth  very  closely  together,  hissed  through  them, 

"The  very  d— 1." 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  said  the  merry  philosopher.  "  So  is 
every  woman,  unless  you  get  the  right  side  of  her. 
Women  are  like  cats ;  you  must  '  poor'  them,  as  the 
children  say,  the  right  way  of  the  fur,  unless  you  want 
them  to  scratch.  I  suppose  you  did  not  understand 
managing  her." 


342  ROSE     CLAEK. 

"  Were  you  ever  on  a  committee  of  an  Orphan 
Asylum  ?"  asked  Balch,  solemnly. 

"No— no;"  laughed  Gerritt.  "Why,  Balch,  I  beg 
pardon  on  my  knees,  for  calling  you  and  your  den 
here,  funereal;  I  have  not  laughed  so  hard  for  a 
twelvemonth." 

"  Because,"  said  Balch,  not  heeding  his  friend's  rail 
lery;  "JThave,  and  Mrs.  Markham  was  the  matron." 

"  O— h— I  see,"  said  Gerritt.  "  You  thought  her  an 
angel,  and  she  thought  that  you  thought  the  children 
under  her  care  were  well  cared  for,  when  they  were 
not ;  is  that  it  ?" 

"  Ex-actly,"  said  Balch,  in  admiration  of  his  friend's 
penetration ;  "  it  was  awful  how  that  woman  deceived 
every  body.  I  don't  mind  myself,  though  I  must  say 
that  I  never  want  to  see  any  thing  that  wears  a  petti 
coat  again,  till  the  day  of  my  death ;  but  those  poor 
children,  I  can't  get  over  it ;  and  I  one  of  the  investi 
gating  committee,  too !  It  was  infamous  that  I  did 
not  look  into  things  closer.  But,  Gerritt,  you  see,  that 
Mrs.  Markham — "  and  Balch  looked  foolish. 

"I  understand;"  said  Gerritt.  "I  see  the  whole 
game ;  well,  what  did  you  say  about  it  ?  I  suppose  you 
did  not  content  yourself  with  resigning?" 

"  No,  indeed,  and  that  comforts  me  a  little.  I  had 
her  turned  out.  I  don't  suppose  (she  was  so  plausi 
ble)  that  I  should  have  believed  Gabriel  himself,  had 
he  told  me  any  thing  against  her ;  but  I  saw  her  with 


ROSE     CLAEK.  843 

my  own  eyes  one  clay,  when  I  called  unexpectedly, 
abuse  those  children.  She  did  not  know  I  was  within 
hearing,  and  tried  afterward  to  gloss  it  over;  it 
would  n't  do ;  and  then,  when  the  scales  had  fallen  off 
my  eyes,  I  looked  back  and  saw  a  great  many  other 
things  to  which  that  scene  gave  me  the  clew.  Then 
I  went  to  Timmins  and  Watkins,  two  of  her  assistants, 
and  after  making  me  promise  not  to  get  them  into  any 
difficulty  about  it,  they  told  me  things  that  would 
make  your  very  flesh  creep ;  and  I  one  of  the  investi 
gating  committee ;  but  that  Mrs.  Markham  was — " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Gerritt ;  "  but,  my  dear 
fellow,  there  is  always  a  drop  of  consolation  to  be 
squeezed  out  of  every  thing.  Suppose  you  had  mar 
ried  her !" 

Balch  jammed  the  poker  furiously  into  the  anthra 
cite,  shaking  his  head  mournfully  the  while,  and  the 
laughing  Gerritt  withdrew. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Balch,  "  that  is  lucky ;  but  poor 
little  Tibbie !  poor  little  Tibbie !  that  will  not  bring 
her  back  to  life ;  and  poor  little  Rose,  too — and  I  one 
of  the  investigating  committee !  It  is  dreadful." 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

THE  inoon  shone  brightly  on  the  trellised  piazza  of 

the House,  at  Niagara.  The  sleepy  house-porter 

had  curled  himself  up  in  the  hall  corner ;  the  sonorous 
breathings  of  weary  travelers  might  be  heard  through 
the  open  windows,  for  the  night  was  warm  and  sultry. 
Two  persons  still  lingered  on  the  piazza.  Judging 
from  their  appearance,  they  were  not  tempted  by  the 
beauty  of  the  night.  Ensconced  in  the  shadow  of  the 
further  comer,  they  were  earnestly  engaged  in  conver 
sation. 

"  I  tell  you  she  is  in  this  house ;  I  saw  her  name  on 
the  books — c  Gertrude  Dean,'  your  ex-wife.  What  do 
you  think  of  that — hey  ?" 

"  The  d — 1 !"  exclaimed  Stahle.  "  I  can  swear,  now 
that  I  am  out  of  school,  you  know,  Smith." 

"  Of  course,"  replied  the  latter,  laughing ;  "  the 
only  wonder  is,  how  you  manage  to  get  along  with  so 
few  vacations.  To  .my  mind,  swearing  lets  off  the 
steam  wonderfully." 

"  How  long  has  this  admirable  spouse  of  mine  been 
here  ?"  asked  Stahle. 


HOSE     CLAEK.  345 

"Don't  know.  Didn't  like  to  ask  questions,  you 
know,  until  I  had  first  spoken  to  you.  She  's  flush  of 
money,  of  course,  or  she  could  not  stay  here,  where 
they  charge  so  like  the  deuce.  I  should  think  it  would 
gall  you  a  little,  Stahle,  and  you  so  out  of  pocket." 

"  It  would,"  said  the  latter,  with  another  oath,  "  had 
I  not  the  way  of  helping  myself  to  some  of  it." 

"  How 's  that  ?  The  law  does  not  allow  you  to 
touch  her  earnings,  now  you  are  divorced." 

"  All  women  are  fools  about  law  matters.  She  don't 
know  that,"  sneered  Stahle.  "She  is  probably  trav 
eling  alone,  and  I  will  frighten  her  into  it — that 's  half 
the  battle.  I  owe  her  something  for  the  cool  way  she 
walked  round  all  the  traps  I  sprung  for  her,  without 
getting  caught.  I  thought  when  I  left  her  that  she 
would  just  fold  her  hands,  and  let  the  first  man 
who  offered  find  her  in  clothes,  on  his  own  terms,  for 
she  never  was  brought  up  to  work,  and  I  knew  she 
had  no  relations  that  would  give  her  any  thing  but 
advice ;"  and  Stahle  gave  a  low,  chuckling  laugh. 

"  You  see  I  always  look  all  round  before  I  leap, 
Smith.  I  can't  understand  it  now,  and  I  never  have, 
why  she  did  n't  do  as  I  expected,  for  she  might  have 
had  lovers  enough.  She  was  good-looking,  and  it  was 
what  I  reckoned  on  to  sustain  the  rumors  I  took  care 
to  circulate  about  her  before  I  left ;  but  what  does  she 
do  but  shut  herself  up,  work  night  and  day,  and  give 

the  lie  to  every  one  of  them.     I  wrote  to  my  brother, 
15* 


346  KOSE     CLARK. 

Fred,  to  try  every  way  to  catch  her  tripping,  to  track 
her  to  every  boarding-house  she  went  to,  and  hint 
things  to  the  landlord,  carefully,  of  course.  Fred  knows 
how  to  do  it ;  but  you  know  if  a  woman  does  nothing 
but  mind  her  own  business,  and  never  goes  into  com 
pany,  a  rumor  against  her  will  very  soon  die  out.  I 
kept  spies  constantly  at  work,  but  it  was  no  use,  con 
found  her ;  but  some  of  her  money  I  will  have.  Here 
she  is  living  in  clover,  going  to  the  Springs,  and  all 
that ;  while  I  am  a  poor  clerk  in  a  grocery  store.  I 
feel  as  cheap  when  any  Eastern  man  comes  in,  and 
recognizes  me  there,  as  if  I  had  been  stealing.  I  won't 
stand  it;  Mrs.  Gertrude  Dean,  as  she  calls  herself, 
has  got  to  hand  over  the  cash.  If  I  can't  ruin  her 
reputation,  I  '11  have  some  of  her  money." 

"  You  advertised  her  in  the  papers,  did  n't  you, 
when  you  left  ? — (after  the  usual  fashion,  '  harboring 
and  trusting,'  and  all  that) — were  you  afraid  she  would 
run  you  in  debt  ?" 

"  Devil  a  bit ;  she 's  too  proud  for  that ;  she  would 
have  starved  first." 

"  Why  did  you  do  it,  then  ?» 

"To  mortify  her  confounded  pride,"  said  Stahle, 
with  a  diabolical  sneer,  "  and  to  injure  her  in  public 
estimation.  That  stroke,  at  least,  told  for  a  time." 

"A  pretty  set  of  friends  she  must  ha  ye  had,"  said 
Smith,  "  to  have  stood  by  and  borne  all  that." 

"  Oh,  I  knew  tJiem  all,  root  and  branch.     I  knew  I 


ROSE     CLARK.  347 

could  go  to  the  full  length  of  my  rope  without  any  of 
their  interference.  In  fact,  their  neglect  of  her  helped 
me  more  than  any  thing  else.  Every  body  said  I  must 
have  been  an  injured  man,  and  that  the  stories  I  had 
circulated  must  be  true  about  her,  or  they  would  cer 
tainly  have  defended  and  sheltered  her.  I  knew  them 
—I  knew  it  would  work  just  so  ;  that  was  so  much  in 
my  favor,  you  see." 

"  They  liked  you,  then  ?» 

Stahle  applied  his  thumbs  to  the  end  of  his  nose, 
and  gave  another  diabolical  sneer. 

"  Liked  me  !  Humph !  They  all  looked  down  on 
me  as  a  vulgar  fellow.  I  was  tolerated,  and  that  was 
all— hardly  that." 

"  I  don't  understand  it,  then,"  said  Smith. 

"  I  do,  though ;  if  they  defended  her,  they  would 
have  no  excuse  for  not  helping  her.  It  was  the  cash, 
you  see,  the  cash  !  so  they  preferred  siding  with  me, 
vulgar  as  they  thought  me.  I  knew  them — I  knew 
how  it  would  work  before  I  began." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  this  is  all  very  interesting  to  you," 
said  Smith,  yawning,  "  but  as  I  am  confounded  tired 
and  sleepy,  and  as  it  is  after  midnight,  I  shall  wish 
you  good-night." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Stahle.  "  I  shall  smoke  another 
cigar  while  I  arrange  my  plans.  This  is  the  last  quiet 
night's  sleep  '  Mrs.  Gertrude  Dean'  will  have  for  some 
time,  I  fancy." 


348  KOBE     CLAKK. 

"Scoundrel!"  exclaimed  John,  leaping  suddenly 
upon  the  piazza  through  his  low  parlor  window. 
"  Scoundrel !  I  have  you  at  last,"  and  well  aimed  and 
vigorous  were  the  blows  which  John  dealt  his  sister's 
traducer. 

Your  woman  slanderer  is  invariably  a  coward — the 
very  nature  of  his  offense  proves  it.  There  never  was 
one  yet  who  dared  face  a  man  in  fair  fight ;  and  so  on 
his  knees  Stahle  pleaded  like  a  whipped  cur  for  mercy. 

"  Go,  cowardly  brute,"  said  John,  kicking  him  from 
the  piazza.  "  If  you  are  seen  here  after  daylight,  the 
worse  for  you." 

"  Very  strange,"  muttered  Smith  the  next  morning, 
"very  strange.  Something  unexpected  must  have 
turned  up  to  send  Stahle  off  in  such  a  hurry.  Well, 
he  is  a  sneaking  villain.  I  am  bad  enough,  but  what  I 
do  is  open  and  above  board.  I  don't  say  prayers  or 
sing  psalms  to  cover  it  up.  I  don't  care  whether  I 
ever  hear  from  him  again  or  not." 


15* 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"How  radiant  you  look  this  morning,"  exclaimed 
Gertrude,  in  astonishment,  as  she  opened  Rose's  cham 
ber  door,  and  sat  down  by  her  bed-side  ;  "  your  eyes 
have  such  a  dazzling  sparkle,  and  your  cheeks  such  a 
glow.  What  is  it,  ma  petite  ?"  she  asked,  still  gazing 
on  the  speechless  Rose. 

"  Vincent  is  not  dead,"  said  Rose,  slowly  and  oracu 
larly,  "  Vincent  is  not  false.  The  weight  has  gone  from 
here,  Gertrude,"  laying  her  hand  on  her  heart.  "I 
shall  see  him,  though  I  can  not  tell  you  how  nor 
where ;  but  he  will  come  back  to  me  and  Charley.  I 
saw  him  last  night  in  my  dream— so  noble — so  good — 
but,  oh !  so  wan,  with  the  weary  search  for  me.  I  hid 
my  face — I  could  not  look  in  his  eyes — for  I  had 
doubted  him — but  he  forgave  me;  oh!  Gertrude,  it? 
was  blessed,  the  clasp  of  those  shadowy  arms,"  and 
Rose  smiled,  and  closed  her  eyes  again,  as  if  to  shut 
out  the  sight  of  all  that  might  dim  her  spiritual  vision. 

"  Poor — poor  Rose !"  murmured  Gertrude,  terrified 
at  the  idea  which  forced  itself  upon  her,  "  reason  gone ! 
Poor  Rose!"  and  as  she  gazed,  the  warm  tears  fell 
upon  t/ie  pillow. 


S50  ROSE     CLA.RK. 

Gertrude  passed  her  soft  hand  magnetizingly  over 
Rose's  closed  lids  and  temples;  gradually  the  bright 
flush  left  her  cheek,  and  she  sank  quietly  to  sleep. 

"  Was  this  to  be  the  end  of  all  Rose's  sufferings  ? 
God  forbid,"  murmured  Gertrude.  "Death  itself 
were  preferable  to  this,"  said  she,  her  eyes  still  riveted 
on  the  beauty  of  that  pale,  childish  face. 

"  Hush !"  whispered  Gertrude,  with  her  finger  on 
her  lips,  as  her  brother  rapped  on  the  door  for  her ; 
she  little  thought  that  she  had  an  unread  page  in  her 
own  eventful  history  to  turn. 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  did  not  see  him,"  exclaimed  she, 
when  her  brother  finished  his  narration.  "  I  should 
have  felt  as  if  a  rattlesnake  lay  coiled  in  my  path.  He 
deserved  his  chastisement;  and  yet,  John,  I  do  not 
like  this  whipping  system ;  it  always  seems  to  me  as  if 
a  gentleman  who  stooped  to  it  put  himself  on  a  level 
with  the  villain  whom  he  punished." 

"It  is  the  only  way,  Gertrude,"  said  the  doctor ; 
•"  especially  where  the  law  gives  no  redress.  Be 
sides,  it  is  the  only  thing  that  appeals  to  that  kind  of 
fellow." 

"  But  he  is  so  vindictive ;"  said  Gertrude,  looking  ap 
prehensively  at  her  brother,  "  he  may  lay  coiled  like  a 
wounded  snake,  but  he  will  yet  make  a  spring." 

"  You  forget  that  his  Christian  reputation  stands  in 
the  way  of  any  such  little  personal  gratification,"  said 
John,  sarcastically. 


ROSE     CLARK.  851 

"  He  has  been  able,  though,  heretofore,  to  make  a 
compromise  with  it,"  said  Gertrude. 

"  Ah  !  he  had  only  a  woman  to  deal  with,"  answered 
John,  "  and  one  whom  he  knew  would  suffer  in  si 
lence,  as  many  an  injured  high-minded  woman  has  done 
before,  rather  than  sacrifice  the  delicacy  of  her  sex,  by 
publicly  brandishing  the  cudgel  in  her  own  defense, 
even  in  a  righteous  cause.  I  shall  have  no  such 
scruples,  and  you  will  see  that  he  understands  it.  A 
good  sound  flagellation  is  the  only  '  moral  suasion'  for 
such  women  tyrants ;  it  is  only  against  the  defenseless 
such  cowards  dare  wage  war." 

"  Let  us  talk  of  something  else,"  said  Gertrude;  and 
she  related  to  John  what  had  transpired  between  her 
and  Rose. 

John  looked  very  grave,  and  sat  absorbed  in 
thought. 

"  I  knew  it  would  trouble  you,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  it 
would  be  so  dreadful  should  she  lose  her  reason." 

"  I  do  not  fear  that,"  replied  John ;  "  I  do  not  think 
her  mind  was  wandering  when  she  told  you  her  dream. 
I  think  you  will  find  that  she  will  be  perfectly  sane 
when  she  wakes. 

"Her  dream," — and  John  hesitated,  "may  prove 
true  ;  stranger  things  have  happened.  Stronger  chains 
of  evidence  than  that  which  apparently  overthrew  her 
hopes  have  been  snapped  in  twain,  and,  if— he  should — 
be  living — if— he — should  prove  worthy  of  her — dear  as 


352  KOBE     CLARK. 

she  is  to  me,  I  feel  Gertrude,  that  my  love  is  capable 
of  self-sacrifice.  I  will  use  my  best  endeavors  to  bring 
them  together. 

"  I  shall  never  love  again,"  said  John ;  "  I  shall  never 
see  another  woman  who  will  so  satisfy  my  soul,  so 
pure,  so  childlike,  so  trusting,  and  yet  so  strong,  so  im 
movable  in  what  she  considers  right — so  vastly  supe 
rior  to  all  other  women.  I  had  woven  bright  dreams, 
in  which  she  had  a  part,"  and  John  walked  to  the  win 
dow  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

Gertrude  did  not  follow  him;  she  knew  from  ex 
perience  that  there  are  moments  when  the  presence 
even  of  the  dearest  friend  is  a  restraint,  when  the 
overcharged  spirit  must  find  relief  only  in  solitude  and 
self-communing,  and  with  a  heart  yearning  with  ten 
derness  toward  her  brother,  she  stole  softly  from  hig 
presence. 


CHAPTER  IVI. 

"  DON'T  talk  to  me,  Mrs.  Howe,"  said  her  husband, 
slamming  to  the  door,  and  dumping  down  in  his  arm 
chair  as  if  to  try  the  strength  of  the  seat.  "  If  there 
is  any  thing  I  hate,  Mrs.  Howe,  it  is  that  tribe  of 
popinjays,  one  of  whom  has  just  gone  through  that 
door ;  hate  don't  express  it,  Mrs.  Howe,  I  detest,  and 
abominate,  and  despise  him." 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Howe,  I  am  athtonithed,"  lisped  his 
wife,  that  lady  not  having  yet  accommodated  her  speech 
to  the  play  of  her  new  set  of  teeth.  "I  am  thure  he 
ith  the  moth  elegant  and  refined  and  thivil  thpoken 
young  man  I  ever  thaw ;  I  never  heard  him  thay  an 
offenthive  thing  to  any  one  in  my  life." 

"Of  course  you  haven't,  Mrs.  Howe;  and  that's 
just  what  I  hate  him  for ;  a  man  who  is  so  loaded  and 
primed  with  civil  speeches  is  always  rotten  at  the  core. 
I  always  steer  clear  of  such  a  fellow,"  said  John,  forget 
ting  the  compliments  to  himself  which  he  had  hereto 
fore  swallowed. 

"That  man  never  sneezes  without  calculating  the 
effect  of  it ;  he  has  the  same  smile  and  bow  and  ob- 


354  ROSE     CLAEK. 

sequious  manner  for  every  body ;  it  is  his  aim  to  be 
popular,  and  it  may  go  down  with  women  and  soft 
headed  men,  but  he  don't  take  John  Howe  in.  He  is 
an  oily-tongued  hypocrite.  That 's  plain  Saxon,  Mrs. 
Howe.  I  am  astonished  at  you — no,  I  am  not,  either," 
said  John,  slamming  himself  down  again  into  the 
chair. 

"Mrs.  Howe!" 

And  John  wheeled  his  chair  close  up  to  her,  "  did  n't 
you  hear  him  the  other  day,  when  that  tiresome,  stupid 
Mrs.  Frink  was  here,  inquire  so  touchingly  after  a  bad 
cough  which  he  recollected  she  had  when  he  met  her 
a  year  ago  ?  Did  you  see  the  effect  it  had  on  the  silly 
old  thing  ?  I  wonder  she  got  out  the  door  without 
having  it  widened,  she  was  so  puffed  up. 

"  Mrs.  Howe !" 

And  John  moved  up  still  closer,  "if  that  man  should 
meet  our  old  cat  in  the  entry  after  a  month's  absence, 
he  'd  take  off  his  hat,  and  inquire  after  that  very  pre 
cocious  kitten  of  hers  he  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
on  the  stairs  when  he  was  last  here.  Fact — I'm 
astonished  at  you,  Mrs.  Howe,"  and  John  dumped 
himself  down  again  into  the  chair;  "the  man  is  a 
jackass,  a  fool,  a  perfume-bottle  on  legs — faugh! 

"  Mrs.  Howe !» 

And  John  wheeled  round  again,  "  did  n't  he  upset 
that  old  squirrel-eyed  Miss  Price,  by  repeating  a  com 
mon-place  remark  of  hers  which  she  made  him  two 


ROSE     CLARK.  355 

or  three  years  ago,  and  which  he  had  the  brass  to 
say  struck  him  so  forcibly  at  the  time  that  he  never 
forgot  it  ?  Did  n't  she  go  home  in  the  full  belief 
that  she  had  up  to  that  time  been  terribly  under 
rated  by  her  folks  at  home?  Certainly; — now  do 
you  suppose  he  does  all  that  for  nothing,  Mrs. 
Howe?  No — he  gets  his  pay  out  of  you  all  by  an 
invitation  to  a  good  dinner.  He  does  the  same  here, 
whenever  it  is  more  convenient  to  stop  here  than  down 
town,  and  then  you  and  all  the  rest  of  these  silly 
women  become  his  trumpeters. 

"  For  his  fine  speeches  to  steamboat  captains,  he  gets 
a  free  pass  in  their  boats ;  landlords  of  hotels,  ditto ; 
that 's  it,  Mrs.  Howe. 

"  I  am  astonished  at  you,  Mrs.  Howe. 

"He  gets  presents  of  hats,  presents  of  coats,  presents 
of  canes,  presents  of  pictures,  presents  of  books  and 
stationery. 

"  As  for  the  women,  of  course,  as  I  said  before,  such 
flummery  takes  them  right  down — -just  as  it  did  you, 
Mrs.  Howe. 

"  May  he  be  strangled  in  his  pink  and  blue  cravat 
before  he  comes  here  to  another  dinner. 

"  That  ?s  right,  Jonathan,  come  in,"  said  Mr.  Howe, 
as  an  unpolished,  but  good-hearted  country  cousin 
strode  over  the  carpet  in  his  thick-soled  boots ;  "  that 's 
right.  You  have  come  just  in  time  to  save  me  from 
being  sick  at  the  stomach ;  sit  down — any  where,  top 


356  ROSE     CLAKK. 

of  the  piano  if  you  like ;  put  your  feet  on  that  Chinese 
work-table,  and  hang  your  hat  on  that  Venus.  It  will 
do  me  good.  And  give  me  that  bit  of  hay  sticking  on 
your  outside  coat.  Let  us  have  something  natural, 
somehow." 

Mrs.  Howe  retired  in  disgust,  although  she  was  too 
much  under  the  yoke  to  make  any  remonstrance,  which 
she  felt  sure  would  be  thrown  in  her  teeth  ! 

In  default  of  any  more  children,  Mrs.  Howe,  like 
many  other  ladies  similarly  situated,  consoled  herself 
with  her  dog,  Consuelo. 

Seating  herself  in  what  she  called  her  "  boudoir,"  a 
little  room  whose  walls  were  covered  with  red  satin 
paper,  which  Mrs.  Howe  imagined  particularly  in  har 
mony  with  her  rubicund  complexion,  she  took  Consuelo 
on  her  lap,  and  stroking  his  long  silken  ears,  said: 
"  How  like  Mr.  Howe,  to  prefer  that  clumsy  country 
cousin  of  his  to  the  elegant  Finels.  There  is  just  the 
same  difference  between  them  that  there  is  between 
you,  my  lovely  Consuelo,  and  that  hideous  yellow 
terrier  of  the  butcher's  boy.  I  think  I  may  say, 
Consuelo,  that  both  you  and  I  are  quite  thrown  away 
in  this  house,"  and  wrapping  her  pet  in  his  embroider 
ed  blanket,  she  laid  him  down  in  her  lap  to  sleep. 

"Jealous!  ah,  ha!  That's  it,  Consuelo.  That  is 
what  sets  Mr.  Howe  so  against  Finels  ;  as  for  his  com 
ing  here  for  our  good  dinners,  that  is  all  sheer  nonsense. 
He  sees  plainly  enough,  with  all  his  politeness  to  John, 


ROSE     CLARK.  357 

that  I  am  miserably  sacrificed  to  him.  I  was  not  aware 
of  it  myself  until  after  I  became  acquainted  with  Mr. 
Finels.  Finels  always  pays  so  much  attention  when  I 
speak.  John,  on  the  contrary,  half  the  time,  does  not 
seem  to  hear  me.  It  is  not  at  all  uncommon  for  him 
to  leave  the  room  or  to  fall  asleep  in  the  middle  of  one 
of  my  conversations.  It  is  very  irritating  to  a  sensible 
woman.  Finels  always  remembers  some  little  remark 
I  have  made  him.  I  think  I  must  have  been  in  the 
habit  of  throwing  away  a  great  many  good  things  on 
John.  John  has  grown  very  stupid  since  I  married 
him. 

"  Finels  says  such  pretty  French  words ;  I  have  not 
the  slightest  idea  what  they  mean,  but  doubtless  there 
is  some  delicate  compliment  conveyed  in  them,  if  I 
only  understood  the  language.  I  think  I  will  study 
French.  Oh !  that  would  be  delightful,  and  then  John 
can't  understand  a  word  dear  Finels  and  I  say ;"  and 
Mrs.  Howe  tied  on  her  hat,  and  went  in  pursuit  of  a 
French  grammar. 

"  What  on  earth  is  this  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Howe,  as 
she  entered  the  parlor  two  hours  after,  with  her  French 
bonnet  and  French  grammar.  "What  on  earth  is 
this  ?"  applying  a  tumbler  which  stood  on  the  center- 
table  to  her  nose,  and  tasting  some  remaining  crumbs 
in  a  plate. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  repeated  John,  puffing  away,  not  at 
the  chibouk,  but  at  the  old  clay  pipe.  "  What  is  it  ? 


358  ROSE    CLARK:. 

Why,  it  is  the  dregs  of  some  molasses  and  water  Jon* 
athan  has  been  drinking,  and  those  crumbs  are  all  that 
remain  of  a  loaf  of  brown  bread,  for  which  I  sent  Mary 
to  the  grocer's.  If  he  likes  country  fare  he  shall  have  it 
— why  not,  as  well  as  your  superfine  Finels  his  olives, 
and  sardines,  and  gimcracks?  I  pay  the  *  damages,'  you 
know,  Mrs.  Howe ;"  and  John's  eye  gave  a  triumphant 
twinkle. 

"Of  course,  my  dear — of  course,"  replied  that  sub 
jugated  lapy ;  "  it  is  all  right,  my  dear,  and  does  great 
credit  to^/our  kindness  of  heart ;  but  it  is  such  a  very 
odd,  old-fashioned  taste,  you  know ;"  and  applying  her 
embroidered  handkerchief  to  her  nose,  she  motioned 
Mary  tcx  remove  the  remains  of  the  homespun  feast. 


';T  . 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

OLD  Mrs.  Bond  had  taken  her  station  on  the  sunny 
side  of  her  piazza.  Mrs.  Bond  was  no  sentimentalist, 
as  I  have  said  before.  She  had  never  read  a  line  of 
poetry  in  her  life ;  but  she  had  read  her  Bible,  and  she 
loved  to  watch  the  glorious  sun  go  down,  and  think  of 
the  golden  streets  of  the  N"ew  Jerusalem,  with  its 
gates  of  pearl,  and  walls  of  jasper.  Many  a  blessed 
vision  from  that  sunset-seat  had  she  seen  with  her  spir 
itual  eyes;  and  many  a  sealed  passage  in  the  Holy 
Book  which  lay  upon  her  lap,  had  then,  and  there,  and 
thus,  been  solved ;  and  many  a  prayer  had  gone  from 
thence  swift-winged  to  heaven. 

The  Bible  contains  great  and  mighty  truths  which 
none  of  us  may  safely  reject ;  but  apart  from  this,  no 
mind,  how  uncultivated  soever,  can  be  familiar  with  its 
glowing  beauty  and  sublimity,  without  being  uncon 
sciously  refined. 

Oh !  how  many  times,  even  to  the  God-forgetting, 
has  the  beauty  of  its  imagery  come  home  with  a  force 
and  aptness  which  no  uninspired  pen,  how  gifted  so 
ever,  could  rival ! 


360  ROSE     CLAEK. 

How  vital  and  immovably  lodged,  though  buried 
for  years  under  the  dust  of  worldliness,  its  wise  and  in 
disputable  precepts ! 

How  like  a  sun-flash  they  sometimes  illume  what  else 
were  forever  mystery-shrouded ! 

And  now  the  last  tint  of  gold  and  crimson  had  faded 
out,  and  one  bright  star  sparkled  like  a  gem  on  the 
brow  of  the  gray  old  mountain,  behind  which  the  sun 
had  sank — bright  as  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  to  Judea's 
gazing  shepherds,  and  like  them,  Mrs.  Bond  knelt  and 
worshiped. 

Broad  as  the  world  was  her  Bible-creed:  it  em 
braced  all  nations,  all  colors,  all  sects.  Whosoever 
did  the  will  of  God  the  same  was  her  father,  sister,  and 
mother;  and  like  the  face  of  Moses  when  he  came 
down  from  the  mount,  hers  shone  that  evening  with 
the  reflected  glory  of  heaven. 

The  traveler  could  not  have  told,  as  he  stopped  be 
fore  that  little  brown  house,  and  stepped  on  its  homely 
piazza,  why  he  raised  his  hat  with  such  an  involuntary 
deference  to  the  unpretending  form  before  him ;  why 
his  simple  "  Good  evening,  madam,"  should  have  been 
so  reverently  spoken  ;  but  so  it  was ;  and  the  kind  old 
lady's  welcome  to  a  seat  by  her  frugal  board  was  just 
as  unaccountably  to  himself  accepted. 

The  traveler  was  a  tall,  dark-browed  man,  with  a 
face  and  form  which  must  have  been  once  pre-emi 
nently  attractive ;  but  now,  his  fine  dark  eyes  were 


ROSE     CLARK.  361 

sunken,  as  if  grief,  or  sickness,  perhaps  both,  had 
weighed  heavily  there ;  and  his  tall  form  seemed  bent 
with  weakness.  All  this  his  kind  hostess  noted,  and 
her  nicest  cup  of  tea  was  prepared,  and  the  wholesome 
loaf  set  before  him,  and  a  blessing  craved  over  it,  from 
lips  which  knew  no  fear  of  man,  with  Heaven  in  sight. 
Perhaps  this  touched  a  chord  to  which  the  stranger's 
heart  vibrated,  for  his  eyes  grew  moist  with  unshed 
tears,  and  his  voice  was  tremulous  when  he  addressed 
his  hostess. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  madam,  how  far  it  is  to  the  near 
est  inn  ?" 

"  A  weary  way,  sir — a  matter  of  fifteen  miles,  and 
you  so  feeble.  You  are  quite  welcome  to  stay  here, 
sir,  till  morning ;  and  your  horse  will  be  well  content 
in  yonder  pasture." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  madam,"  said  the  stranger, 
hesitatingly ;  then  adding  with  a  smile,  "  travelers  who 
have  preceded  me  on  this  road  must  have  borne  a  good 
name." 

"  There  is  nothing  here  to  tempt  a  thieving  hand," 
said  Mrs.  Bond.  "  I  seldom  think  at  night  of  barring 
yonder  door.  Where  one's  trust  is  in  an  Almighty 
arm,  there  is  little  room  for  fear. 

"  I  can  remember  when  yonder  broad  oak  was  but  a 
sapling.  I  was  born  and  married  here,  sir;  through 
that  door  my  husband  and  child  passed  to  their 
long  home.  My  time  can  not  be  long;  but  while 

16 


362  ROSE      CLARK. 

I  stay,  every  stone  and  twig  in  this  place  is  dear  to 
me." 

"  With  pleasant  memories  for  company,  one  can  not 
be  lonesome,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"  No — and  sad  ones  may  be  made  pleasant,  if  one 
only  knows  how,"  and  she  laid  her  withered  hand  on 
the  Bible. 

As  she  did  so  a  paper  fluttered  out  from  between  its 
leaves.  "  Sometimes,  though,"  said  she,  as  she  took  it 
up,  "  one's  faith  is  sorely  tried. 

"  This  now— this  letter — it  was  from  my  child.  I 
called  her  my  child,  and  yet  no  blood  of  mine  ever 
flowed  in  her  veins ;  and  she  called  me  c  mother,'  be 
cause  my  heart  warmed  to  her ;  God  knows  she  had 
sore  need  of  it,  poor  lamb. 

<c  An  old  woman  like  myself  may  speak  plain  words, 
sir.  He  who  was  her  child's  father  left  her  to  weep 
over  it  alone.  It  was  heart-breaking  to  see  the  poor 
young  thing  try  to  bear  up,  try  to  believe  that  he 
whom  her  innocent  heart  trusted,  would  turn  out 
worthy  of  its  love ;  but  sometimes  she  wou]$  quite 
break  down  with  the  grief;  and  when  she  grew  fretful 
with  it,  I  did  not  chide  her,  because  I  knew  her  heart 
was  chafed  and  sore. 

"  Her's  was  such  a  lovely  babe ;  so  bright,  and 
handsome,  and  winsome.  She  was  good  and  loving 
too.  She  had  not  sinned.  She  had  been  deceived  and 
wronged.  So  she  could  not  bear  the  taunting  word, 


EOSE     CLARK.  363 

sir ;  and  when  it  came,  unexpectedly  to  us,  she  fled 
away  like  a  hunted  deer,  through  yonder  door,  till  her 
poor  strength  gave  out,  and  then  we  found  her  and  the 
babe  just  like  dead. 

"  I  brought  her  home,  and  nursed  her  along,  and 
thought  to  keep  her,  and  make  it  all  easy  for  her ;  but 
her  young  heart  pined  for  him — she  fancied,  poor 
child,  she  could  find  him,  and  the  world  so  wide — and 
that  he  would  lift  her  pure  brow  in  the  taunting 
world's  face,  and  call  her  c  wife  ;'  and  so  she  fled  away 
in  the  night,  no  one  knew  whither,  and  left  me  this 
letter,  sir.  My  eyes  are  dim — but  I  have  no  need  to 
read  it,  for  the  words  come  up  to  me  by  day  and  by 
night;  read  it  yourself,  sir — mayhap  in  your  trav 
els,  you  may  hear  of  the  poor  young  thing — I  should 
so  like  to  know  of  her,  before  I  die. 

"  The  light  is  but  dim,  sir,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  the 
traveler  took  it  in  his  hand,  and  held  the  letter  be 
tween  his  face  and  Mrs.  Bond's. 

Yes — the  light  icas  dim,  so  were  the  traveler's  eyes ; 
he  must  have  been  sadly  feeble  too,  for  his  hands  trem 
bled  so  that  he  could  scarcely  hold  the  letter. 

"And  you  never  heard  from  her,  after  this?"  he 
asked,  his  eyes  still  riveted  on  the  letter. 

"  "Not  a  word,  sir ;  it  makes  me  so  sad  when  I  think 
of  it ;  perhaps  she  may  be  dead." 
.    "  Perhaps  so,"  answered  the  traveler,  shuddering. 

"  Mny  be  you  could  make  some  inquiries,  sir,  if  it 


364  HOSE     CLABK. 

would  not  trouble  you,  as  you  go  along;  her  name 
was  Rose,  though  she  looked  more  like  a  lily  when 
she  left  us,  poor  thing !  Rose — and  her  lover's  name 
was  Vincent ;  perhaps  you  may  have  heard  of  him." 

"  The  name  sounds  familiar,"  said  the  stranger ; 
"  perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  get  some  clew  to  it." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Bond,  gratefully;  "  and 
now,  sir,  as  I  get  up  early  I  go  to  rest  early ;  so,  if 
you  please,  I  will  show  you  your  room;  it  is  very 
plain — but  it  is  all  the  spare  one  I  have.  It  was  poor 
Rose's  room ;"  and  Mrs.  Bond  taking  her  candle,  led 
the  way  to  it. 

"  There,"  said  she,  setting  the  light  down  upon  the 
table,  "  many  a  time  when  she  stood  at  that  little  win 
dow,  sir,  she  and  the  babe,  people  stopped  here  to  ask 
who  they  were,  they  were  both  so  handsome,  and  so 
different  from  our  country  folks. 

"  On  that  very  little  table  she  left  her  letter  ;  it  was 
a  long  time  before  I  could  come  here  and  feel  that  it 
was  all  right  she  should  suffer  so,  although  I  know 
that  God's  ways  are  just ;  but  I  shall  know  all  about 
it  when  I  get  to  heaven ;  perhaps  it  was  only  '  the 
narrow  way'  to  take  her  there — who  knows  ?  I  would 
rather  be  Rose  than  they  who  brought  her  here ;  and 
yet,"  said  the  mild  old  lady,  hesitatingly,  "perhaps 
they  thought  they  did  right,  but  riches  make  us  take 
strange  views  of  things ;  it  takes  grace  to  be  a  rich 
Christian.  And  when  I  fed  displeased  with  Mrs. 


ROSE     CLAEK.  365 

Howe's  heartlessness,  I  say,  money  might  have  turned 
me  aside  too — who  knows  ?  Good-night,  sir ;  heaven 
send  you  sweet  sleep;"  and  Mrs.  Bond  went  down 
into  her  small  kitchen. 

And  it  was  here — in  this  very  room,  that  Rose  had 
wept,  and  suffered,  and  wrestled  with  her  great  sor 
row!  On  that  very  pillow  her  aching  head  vainly 
sought  rest ;  at  that  window  she  had  sat  thinking — 
thinking — till  brain  and  heart  grew  sick,  and  God  him 
self  seemed  to  have  forsaken  her ;  and  down  that  road 
she  had  fled,  like  a  hunted  deer,  with  slander's  cruel 
arrow  rankling  in  her  quivering  heart ! 

Not  on  that  pillow  could  sleep  woo  our  weary 
traveler. 

At  the  little  window  he  sat  and  saw  the  night- 
shadows  deepen,  and  only  the  shivering  trees,  as  the 
night-wind  crept  through  them,  made  answer  to  his 
low  moan, 

"Rose!  Rose!" 


CHAPTER    IVIII. 

«  DEAK  TOM,— 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  going  abroad.  You  see  I  can 
be  unselfish.  Howl  wish  JTwere  going!  Of  course 
you  mean  to  take  notes  on  the  way.  For  Heaven's 
sake,  if  you  do,  don't  bore  us  with  re-vamping  the 
travelers'  guide-book,  like  all  your  predecessors  ;  don't 
prate  stereotyped  stupidities  about  Madonnas,  and 
Venuses,  and  Gladiators,  or  go  mad  over  a  bit  of 
Vesuvius  lava,  or  wear  Mont  Blanc  or  the  Rhine 
threadbare.  Spare  us  also  all  egotistical  descriptions 
of  your  dinners  and  breakfasts  with  foreign  literary 
lions,  and  great  lords  and  ladies.  Strike  out  a  new 
path,  'an  thou  lovest  me,  Hal,  or  I  will  write  your 
book  down  with  one  dash  of  my  puissant  goose- 
quill. 

"  Mrs.  John  has  gone  to  the  dogs.  Well,  listen,  and 
I  will  tell  you.  As  John's  -allowance  to  her  grew 
fitful,  so  did  my  attentions ;  a  man  can  not  live  on  air 
you  know,  or  waste  his  time  where  it  will  not  pay. 
Mrs.  John  pouted,  and  I  whistled.  Mrs.  John  coaxed, 
and  I  sulked.  Mrs.  John  took  to  drinking,  and  I  took 


ROSE     CLARK .  867 

French  leave,  making  love  to  little  Kate,  who,  I  hear, 
has  lately  had  a  fortune  left  her.  Well,  I  had  quite 
lost  sight  of  old  Mrs.  John  for  some  months ;  I  only 
knew  that  her  husband  was  a  hanger-on  at  Gripp's 
gambling-house,  and,  like  all  steady  fellows  when 
they  break  loose,  was  out-heroding  Herod  in  every 
sort  of  dissipation,  leaving  Mrs.  John  to  take  care  of 
herself. 

"  Well,  the  other  night  Harry  and  I — you  remem 
ber  Harry?  that  clever  dog  who  always  beat  us  at 
billiards — Harry  and  I  were  coming  home  about  mid 
night,  when  we  came  across  a  policeman  dragging  off 
a  woman,  who  was  swearing  at  him  like  a  privateers- 
man.  That  was  nothing  to  us,  you  know,  or  would 
not  have  been,  had  I  not  heard  my  name  mentioned. 
I  turned  my  head ;  the  light  from  the  gas-lamp  fell 
full  upon  her  bloated  face,  and,  by  Jove !  if  it  was  not 
old  Mrs.  John  !  her  clothes  half  torn  off  her  in  the 
drunken  scuffle,  looking  like  the  very  witch  of  Endor. 
Was  n't  it  a  joke  ?  She  died  that  night,  at  the  sta 
tion-house,  of  delirium  tremens,  shrieking  for  '  John,' 
and  '  Rose,'  and  '  Finels,'  and  the  deuce  knows  who. 
So  we  go.  Have  you  seen  the  new  danseuse,  Felis- 
sitimi  ?  If  not,  do  so  by  all  means  when  she  comes 
to  Baltimore.  She  will  dance  straight  into  your  heart 
with  her  first  pas.  I  'm  off,  like  all  the  world,  to  see 
her.  "  As  ever,  yours, 


CHAPTER   IIX. 

" AND  here  we  are  in  Boston!"  said  Gertrude. 
"  Find  me  any  thing  lovelier  than  this  Common,"  she 
exclaimed,  as  she  seated  herself  under  the  trees  one 
sweet  summer  morning. 

"  See !  Beyond  Charles  River  the  hills  stretch  away 
in  the  distance,  while  the  fragrant  breath  of  their 
woods  and  hay-fields  come  wafted  on  every  passing 
breeze. 

4*  And  the  Common !  one  might  look  till  the  eye 
grows  weary  through  those  long  shady  vistas,  on 
whose  smoothly-trodden  paths  the  shifting  sunlight 
scarce  finds  place,  through  the  leafy  roofs,  to  play. 

"  Look,  Rose,  at  those  lovely  children  gamboling  on 
the  velvet  grass,  fresher  and  sweeter  than  the  clover- 
blossoms  they  hide  in  their  bosoms. 

"  See !  Up  springs  the  fountain !  like  the  out-gushing 
of  Nature's  full  heart  at  its  own  sweet  loveliness;  leaping 
upward,  then  falling  to  earth  again,  only  to  rise  with 
fresher  beauty.  No  aristocratic  c  park'  key  keeps  out 
the  poor  man's  child,  for  Bunker  Hill  lifts  its  granite 
finger  of  warning  there  in  the  distance,  and  the  little 


J&OSE     CLAKK.  G69 

plebeian's  soiled  fingers  are  as  welcome  to  pluck  the 
butter-cups  as  his  more  dainty  little  neighbor's. 

"God  be  thanked  for  that!"  said  Gertrude.  "I 
well  remember  one  balmy  summer  morning  in  "New 
York,  when  my  gipsy  feet  earned  me  out  over  the 
pavements  in  search  of  a  stray  blade  of  grass  or  a  fresh 
blossom.  My  new  dress  was  an  '  open  sesame'  to  one 
of  the  'locked  parks'  under  the  charge  of  an  old 
gardener.  Lovely  flowers  were  there,  odorous  shrubs, 
and  graceful  trees.  The  children  of  the  privileged  few, 
daintily  clad,  played  in  its  nicely-graveled,  shady  walks. 

"  It  was  beautiful ;  but  outside,  the  poor  man's  child, 
hollow-eyed  and  sad,  crouched  that  balmy  morning  on 
the  heated  pavement,  pressing  his  pale  face  close  against 
the  iron  rails,  looking  and  longing,  as  only  the  children 
of  poverty  can  look  and  long,  into  that  forbidden  Eden  ! 

"  It  made  my  heart  ache.  I  could  not  walk  there. 
That  little  pale,  sad  face  haunted  me  at  every  step. 
The  very  flowers  were  less  sweet,  the  drooping  trees 
less  graceful,  and  the  lovely  green  hedge  seemed  some 
tyrant  jailor,  within  whose  precincts  my  very  breath 
grew  thick ;  and  so,"  said  Gertrude,  "  I  thank  God  for 
this  '  Common' — free  to  all— yes,  Common.  I  like 
the  homely,  democratic  word. 

"  Not  that  there  is  no  aristocracy  in  Boston,"  said 
she,  laughing ;  "  on  the  contrary,  the  Beacon-street  mil 
lionaire,  whose  father  might  have  made  his  debut  three 
years  ago  as  a  tin  peddler,  looks  down  contemptuously 
16* 


370  ROSE     CLAIiK. 

on  those  who  live  .outside  this  charmed  locality.  The 
Boston  Unitarian  never  dreams  of  sharing  the  same 
heaven  as  the  Boston  Presbyterian,  and  this  is  the  only 
platform  on  which  he  and  the  Boston  Presbyterian 
meet!  And  'High  Church'  and  'Low  Church'  are 
fenced  off  and  labeled,  with  a  touch-me-not  preci 
sion,  for  which  the  '  Great  Shepherd  of  the  sheep'  fur 
nished  no  precedent. 

"  Still,  Boston  is  a  nice  little  place.  One  does  not, 
as  in  ~New  York,  need  to  drive  all  the  afternoon  to  get 
out  into  the  country.  Start  for  an  afternoon  drive  in 
New  York,  you  have  your  choice  between  the  unmiti 
gated  gutter  of  its  back  streets,  or  a  half  hour's  block 
ading  of  your  wheels  every  fifteen  minutes,  in  the  more 
crowded  thoroughfares.  Add  to  this  your  detention  at 
the  ferry,  blocked  in  by  teams  and  carts,  and  forced  to 
listen  to  their  wrangling  drivers,  at  d  you  can  compute,  if 
you  have  an  arithmetical  turn,  how  much  to  subtract  from 
the  present,  or  prospective,  enjoyment  of  the  afternoon ; 
which,  by  the  way,  the  first  evening  star  announces  to 
be  at  an  end,  just  as  you  arrive  where  a  little  light  on 
a  fine  prospect  would  be  highly  desirable.  This,  to  one 
whose  preoccupied  morning  hours  admit  of  no  choice 
as  to  the  time  for  riding,  may,  perhaps,  without  wrest 
ing  the  king's  English,  be  called— tantalizing !  But 
what  drives  are  Boston  drives !  What  green,  winding 
lanes,  what  silver  lakes,  what  lovely  country-seats, 
what  tasteful  pleasure-grounds!  And  the  carriages, 


ROSE     CLARK.  371 

BO  handsome,  so  comfortable;  and  the  drivers  so 
decent,  respectable,  and  intelligent ;  so  well-versed  in 
the  history  of  the  city  environs.  Send  for  a  chance 
carriage  in  Xew  York,  one  hesitates  to  sit  on  its  soiled 
cushions,  dreads  its  dirty  steps  and  wheels,  and  turns 
away  disgusted  from  its  loaferish  driver,  whiffing  to 
bacco-smoke  through  the  window  in  your  face,  and  ex 
changing  oaths  with  his  comrade  whom  he  is  treating 
to  a  ride  on  the  box.  A  handsome,  cleanly  public  car 
riage,  in  New  York,  is  as  rare  there,  as  a  tastefully- 
dressed  woman  or  a  healthy-looking  child. 

"Then,  Boston  has  its  Sabbaths — its  quiet,  calm, 
blessed  Sabbaths.  No  yelling  milk-men  or  newsboys 
disturb  its  sacred  stillness.  Engines  are  not  Sabbati- 
cally  washed,  and  engine  companies  do  not  take  that 
day  to  practice  on  tin  horns ;  military  companies  do  not 
play  funereal  Yankee  Doodles  ;  fruit-stalls  do  not  offend 
your  eye  at  street-corners,  or  open  toy-shops  in  the 
back  streets ;  but  instead,  long  processions  of  families 
thread  their  way  over  the  clean  pavements  to  their  re 
spective  churches,  where  the  clergymen  can  preach 
three  times  a  day  without  fainting  away ;  where  no 
poor  servant-girl,  whose  morning  hours  are  unavoidably 
occupied,  finds,  after  a  long  walk  there,  her  church 
closed  in  the  afternoon,  while  her  minister  is  at  home 
taking  his  nap ;  where  churches  are  not  shut  up  in  the 
summer  months,  while  the  minister  luxuriates  in  the 
country  at  his  ease." 


372  ROSE     CLARK. 

"You  are  severe,"  said  John;  "ministers  are  but 
men ;  their  health  requires  respites." 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  cases  where  a  clergyman  is 
really  unahle  to  labor,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  but  that  habit 
of  closing  churches  whole  nonths  in  the  summer, 
strikes  me  most  painfully.  Death  has  all  seasons  for 
his  own — sorrow  casts  her  shadow  regardless  of  sum 
mer's  heat  or  winter's  cold.  I  can  not  think  it  right 
that  families  should  be  left  without  some  kind  shep 
herd.  Even  then,  with  a  substitute,  every  one  knows 
there  are  sorrows,  as  well  as  joys,  with  which  the  most 
well-meaning  stranger  can  not  intermeddle. 

"  O,  it  is  from  the  lips  of  one's  own  pastor  the  part 
ing  soul  would  fain  hear  the  soul-cheering  promise. 
His  confiding  ear  that  one  would  entreat  for  the  tear 
ful  bed-side  weepers!  Verily  those  ministers  have 
their  reward,  who,  like  their  blessed  Master,  are  c  not 
weary  of  well-doing.'  It  were  worth  some  sacrifice 
of  luxurious  pleasure  to  ease  one  dying  pang,  to  plume 
one  broken  wing  for  its  eternal  flight !  It  were  sad  to 
think  the  smallest  and  weakest  lamb  of  the  fold  per 
ished  uncheered  by  the  voice  of  its  earthly  shepherd. 
Ah!  it  was  a  life  of  self-denial  that  the  'Man  of  Sor 
rows'  led." 

"  Quite  a  homily,  Gertrude ;  you  are  evidently  be 
hind  the  progressive  spirit  of  the  times ;  when  clergy 
men  yacht  and  boat,  and  hunt  and  fish,  and  election 
eer  in  the  most  layman-wise  manner." 


BO  SB     CLARK.  373 

"I  confess  to  conservatism  on  these  points,"  said 
Gertrude ;  "  I  dislike  a  starched  minister*,  as  much  as 
I  dislike  an  undignified  one.  I  dislike  a  stupid  ser 
mon,  as  much  as  I  dislike  a  facetious  or  a  ranting  one ; 
I  dislike  a  pompous,  solemn  clergyman,  as  much  as  I 
dislike  a  jolly,  story-telling,  jovial  one.  A  dignified, 
gentlemanly,  courteous,  consistent,  genial  clergyman, 
it  were  rare  to  find ;  though  there  are  such,  to  whom, 
when  I  meet  them,  my  very  heait  warms ;  to  whom  I 
would  triumphantly  point  the  carping  unbeliever,  who, 
because  of  the  spots  which  defile  too  many  a  clerical 
cassock,  sneers  indiscriminately  at  the  pulpit." 

"  Well — to  change  the  subject,  what  have  you  to 
show  Rose  and  me,  here  in  Boston  ?"  asked  John. 

"  Use  your  eyes,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  do  you  not  see 
that  the  gutters  are  inodorous ;  that  the  sidewalks  are 
as  clean  as  a  parlor-floor ;  that  the  children  are  healthy, 
and  sensibly  dressed ;  that  the  gentlemen  here  do  not 
smoke  in  public;  that  the  intellectual,  icicle  women 
glide  through  the  streets,  all  dressed  after  one  pat 
tern,  with  their  mouths  puckered  up  as  if  they  were 
going  to  whistle ;  and  that  there  is  a  general  air  of 
substantiality  and  well-to-do-ativeness  pervading  the 
place ;  a  sort  of  touch-me-not,  pharisaical  atmosphere 
of  '  stand-aside'  propriety  ? 

"  Do  you  not  see  that  slops  are  not  thrown  at  your 
ankles  from  unexpected  back  doors,  basements,  or  win 
dows  ;  that  tenement-houses  and  pa/atial  residences  do 


874  ROSE     CLARK. 

not  stand  cheek  by  jowl ;  that  Boston  men  are  hand 
some,  but  provincial,  and  do  you  not  know  that  the 
munificence  of  her  rich  men  is  proverbial. 

"  Yes,  John,  Boston  is  a  nice  little  place ;  that  its  in 
habitants  go  to  church  three  times  on  Sunday,  is  a  fixed 
feet,  and  that  many  of  them  discuss  fashions  going, 
and  slander  their  neighbors  coming  back,  is  quite  as 
fixed  a  fact.  If  I  should  advise  her,  it  would  be  after 
this  wise. 

"  Hop  out  of  thy  peck  measure,  oh  Boston !  and 
take  at  least  a  half  bushel  view  of  things,  so  shalt  thou 
be  weighed  in  the  balance,  and  not  be  found  wanting  ! 

"  And  yet  thou  hast  thy  sweet  Mount  Auburn  !  and 
for  that  I  will  love  thee.  What  place  of  sepulture  can 
compare  with  it  ?  Planted  by  Nature's  own  prodigal 
and  tasteful  hand,  with  giant  oaks  and  cedars  nesting 
myriad  birds,  now  flitting  through  the  sun-flecked 
branches,  now  pluming  their  wings  from  some  moss- 
grown  grave-stone,  and  soaring  upward  like  the  freed 
spirit,  over  whose  mortal  dust  their  sweetest  requiem 
is  sung. 

"  Beautiful  Mount  Auburn !  beautiful  when  summer's 
warm  breath  distills  spicy  odors  from  thousand 
flowers,  trembling  with  countless  dewy  diamonds ; 
beautiful  when  the  hushed  whisper  passes  through  its 
tall  treetops,  as  weeping  trains  of  mourners  wind  slow 
ly  with  their  dead  beneath  them. 

"  Beautiful  at  daybreak !  when  the  sun  gilds  thy  sa- 


EOSE     CLMIK.  375 

cred  temple ;  when  the  first  wakeful  bird  trills  out  his 
matin  song. 

"  Beautiful  when  evening's  star  creeps  softly  out,  to 
light  the  homeless  widow's  footstep  to  the  grave  of 
him,  whose  strong  arm  lies  stricken  at  her  trembling 
feet. 

"  Beautiful  when  the  radiant  moon  silvers  lovingly 
some  humble  grave,  monumentless  but  for  the  living 
statue — Grief! 

"  Beautiful,  even  when  winter's  paE  softly  descends 
over  its  sacred  dust ;  when  the  tall  pines,  in  their  un 
changing  armor  of  green,  stand  firm,  like  some  brave 
body-guard,  while  all  around  is  fading,  falling,  dying ; 
pointing  silently  upward,  where  there  is  no  shadow  of 
change. 

"  Beautiful  Mount  Auburn !  beautiful  even  to  the 
laughing  eye  which  sorrow  never  dimmed ;  beautiful 
even  to  the  bounding  foot,  which  despair  never  para 
lyzed  at  the  tomb's  dark  portal — but  sacred  to  the  rifled 
heart  whose  dearest  treasures  lay  folded  to  thy  fragrant 
bosom !" 


CHAPTER   LX. 

"Is  that  you,  John?  because  if  it  is,  you  cannot 
come  in,"  said  Gertrude,  opening  the  door  just  wide 
enough  for  her  head  to  be  seen. 

"  I  am  so  miserable,  Gertrude." 

"  Poor  John !  Well,  just  wait  a  bit,  and  I  will  open 
the  door ;"  and  darting  back  into  the  room,  Gertrude 
shuffled  away  a  picture  on  which  she  had  been  painting, 
and  then  threw  open  the  door  of  her  studio. 

"  Poor  John,  what  is  it  ?"  and  Gertrude  seated  her 
self  on  the  lounge  beside  him,  and  laid  her  cheek 
against  his,  "  what  is  it,  John  ?" 

"  I  am  so  dissatisfied  and  vexed  with  myself,"  said 
her  brother,  "  I  thought  I  was  disinterested  and  unself 
ish,  and  I  am  not.  I  have  caught  myself  hoping  that 
Rose's  dream  might  not  prove  true — that  Vincent 
might  never  appear,  so  that  I  might  win  her — and  she 
so  bound  up  in  him,  too  !  I  am  a  disgrace  to  my  man 
hood,  Gertrude,  a  poor,  miserable,  vacillating,  unhappy 
wretch." 

"  ISTo,  you  are  not,"  said  Gertrude,  kissing  his  moist 
eyelids  ;  "  only  a  great  soul  would  have  made  the  gen 
erous  confession  which  has  just  passed  your  lips ;  a 


EOSE     CLARK.  877 

more  ignoble  nature  would  have  excused  and  palliated 
it,  perhaps  denied  its  existence ;  you  are  generous,  and 
noble,  and  good,  and  I  only  wish  you  were  not  my 
brother,  that  I  might  marry  you  myself ;"  and  she  tried 
to  force  a  smile  upon  John's  face,  by  peeping  archly 
into  it. 

"  Do  not  jest  with  me,  Gertrude ;  comfort  me  if  you 
can.  I  too  have  had  my  dream ;  I  am  about  to  lose 
Rose.  I  can  not  tell  you  about  it  now,  it  is  too  pain 
fully  vivid.  How  can  I  live  without  love?  without 
Rose's  love  ?  Tell  me  how  you  learned,  Gertrude,  to 
tame  down  that  fiery  heart  of  yours." 

Gertrude  only  replied  by  her  caresses ;  for,  in  truth, 
her  heart  was  too  full. 

There  is  an  outward  life  visible  to  all ;  there  is  an  in 
ward  life  known  only  to  our  own  souls,  and  Him  who 
formed  them. 

Was  Gertrude's  heart  "  tamed  ?" 

Ah,  there  were  moments  when  she  threw  aside 
book,  pallet,  and  pencil,  when  she  could  listen  only 
to  its  troubled,  mournful  wailings,  because  there  was 
nothing  in  all  the  wide  earth,  that  could  satisfy  its 
cravings.  Only  in  the  Infinite  can  such  a  spirit  find 
rest ;  and  leaning  her  head  upon  John's  shoulder,  Ger 
trude  sang : 

"  Oh,  ask  them,  hope  thou  not  too  much 

From  sympathy  below ; 
Tew  are  the  hearts  whence  one  same  touch 
Bids  the  sweet  fountains  flow : 


378  ROSE      CLARK. 

Few,  and  by  still  conflicting  powers, 

Forbidden  here  to  meet, 
Such  ties  would  make  this  world  of  ours 

Too  fair  for  aught  so  fleet ; 

"  But  for  those  bonds  all  perfect  made, 

"Wherein  bright  spirits  blend ; 
Like  sister  flowers  of  one  sweet  shade, 

"With  the  same  breeze  that  bends. 
For  that  full  bliss  of  soul  allied 

Never  to  mortals  given ; 
Oh,  lay  thy  lovely  dreams  aside, 

Or  lift  them  up  to  Heaven  1" 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Gertrude,"  said  her  brother. 
"I  am  no  Puritan,  but  your  song  has  soothed  me. 
There  must  be  something  more  satisfying  in  another 
state  of  existence  than  there  is  in  this,  else  were  our 
very  being  a  mockery." 

"  Poor  John  ;  he  will  arrive  at  the  truth  by  and  by," 
said  Gertrude,  as  he  left  the  room.  "I  think  it  is 
easier  for  woman  to  lean  upon  an  Almighty  arm  ;  it  is 
only  through  disappointment  and  suffering  that  man's 
proud  spirit  is  bowed  childlike  before  the  cross.  And 
how,  when  it  gets  there,  the  soul  looks  wondering 
back  that  it  should  ever  have  opposed  its  own  poor 
pride  of  self  to  Calvary's  meek  sufferer  !" 


CHAPTER   III. 

How  the  wind  roared !  how  the  sails  creaked  and 
flapped !  and  the  tall  masts  groaned !  How  the  great 
vessel  rolled  from,  side  to  side,  and  tossed  hither  and 
thither,  like  a  plaything  for  the  winds  and  waves.  The 
poor  invalid  groaned  in  his  berth  with  pain  and  ennui. 
It  mattered  little  to  him  whether  the  vessel  ever  made 
port  or  not.  Sea-sickness  is  a  great  leveler,  making 
the  proud  and  haughty  spirit  quail  before  it,  and  dis 
posing  it  to  receive  a  sympathizing  word  from  even 
the  humblest. 

"  A  rough  sea,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  stripping  off 
his  shaggy  deck-coat,  and  seating  himself  by  the  side 
of  the  invalid  ;  "  rough  even  for  us  old  sea-dogs  ;  but 
for  a  landsman,  ah  !  I  see  it  has  taken  you  all  aback," 
and  the  captain  smiled  as  a  man  may  smile  who  is  quits 
with  old  Neptune  in  his  fiercest  moods. 

"  I  can't  say,  though,"  continued  the  captain,  "  that 
you  looked  any  too  robust  when  you  came  on  board. 
I  suppose  we  must  take  that  into  the  account.  I  hope 
you  find  yourself  comfortable  here — stewardess  atten 
tive,  and  so  on.  She  is  an  uncouth  creature,  but  seems 


380  KOSE     CLARK. 

to  understand  her  business.  Ah !  had  you  been  aboard 
my  ship  some  years  ago,  you  would  have  seen  a  stew 
ardess  !  Such  a  noiseless  step ;  such  a  gentle  voice ; 
such  a  soft  touch ;  it  was  quite  worth  while  to  be  sick 
to  be  so  gently  cared  for." 

The  invalid  made  no  reply,  save  to  turn  his  head 
languidly  on  the  pillow ;  he  was  too  weak,  and  sick, 
and  dispirited  to  take  any  interest  in  the  old  captain's 
story. 

"  I  wonder  what  ever  became  of  her,"  continued  the 
captain,  tapping  on  the  lid  of  his  snuff-box ;  "  I  made 
all  sorts  of  inquiries  when  I  returned  from  my  last 
voyage.  Such  a  boy  as  she  had  with  her !  You 
should  have  seen  that  boy  (bless  me,  I  hope  you'll 
excuse  my  sneezing).  Such  a  pair  of  eyes ;  black — 
like  what,  I  fancy,  yours  might  have  been  when  you 
were  young,  and  handsomer  ;  he  was  a  splendid  child. 
We  thought  one  spell  the  little  fellow  was  going  to 
slip  his  cable ;  but  he  managed  to  weather  the  storm, 
and  came  out  from  his  sickness  brighter  than  ever. 
Poor  Rose !  how  she  did  love  him !" 

"  Rose  ?"  asked  the  invalid,  for  the  first  time  betray 
ing  any  sign  of  interest. 

"Yes;  pretty  name,  wasn't  it?  and  just  sweet 
enough  for  her  too.  But,  poor  girl,  she  was  a  blighted 
Rose  !"  and  the  old  captain  set  his  teeth  together,  and 
bringing  his  horny  palm  down  on  his  knee,  exclaimed, 
"Great  Caesar!  I  should  like  to  see  the  rascal  who 


ROSE     OLAKK  881 

broke  that  "woman's  heart  run  up  to  the  yard-arm  yon 
der.  I  don't  care  how  fine  a  broad-cloth  such  a  fellow 
wears ;  the  better  his  station  the  greater  his  sin,  and 
the  more  weight  his  damning  example  carries  with  it. 
If  a  man  wants  to  do  a  mean  action,  let  him  not  select 
a  woman  to  victimize.  Yes,  sir,  as  I  said  before,  I 
should  like  to  have  that  fellow  dangling  from  yonder 
yard-arm !  I  am  an  old  man,  and  have  seen  a  great 
deal  of  this  sort  of  thing  in  my  travels  round  the 
world.  The  laws  need  righting  on  this  subject,  and  if 
men  were  not  so  much  interested  in  letting  them  re 
main  as  they  are,  women  would  be  better  protected. 
Imprisonment  for  life  is  none  too  heavy  a  penalty  for 
such  an  offense.  It  is  odd,"  said  the  old  captain,  reflect 
ively,  "how  a  woman  will  forgive  every  thing  to  a 
man  she  loves.  Now  that  poor  little  Rose — she  clung 
to  the  belief  that  her  lover  had  neither  betrayed  nor 
deserted  her — is  n't  it  odd  now  ?  and  is  n't  it  a  cursed 
shame,"  said  the  old  captain,  striking  his  hand  down 
again  on  his  knee,  "that  the  most  angelic  trait  in 
woman's  nature  should  be  the  very  noose  by  which 
man  drags  her  down  to  perdition  ?  Hang  it,  I  could 
almost  foi  eswear  my  own  sex  when  I  think  of  it. 

"  But  you  don't  agree  with  me,  I  suppose,"  said  the 
captain,  unbuttoning  his  vest,  as  if  it  impeded  the  play 
of  his  feelings.  "You  young  fellows  are  not  apt  to 
look  on  it  in  this  light.  You  wiU9  sir,  if  you  ever  have 
daughters.  Every  such  victim  is  somebody's  daughter, 


382  ROSE     CLAKK. 

somebody's  sister.  No  man  can  indulge  in  illicit 
gratification — not  even  with  a  consenting  party — and 
say  he  does  no  wrong.  In  the  first  place,  as  I  look  at 
it,  he  blunts  his  own  moral  sense  ;  secondly,  that  of  his 
companion;  for  it  is  well  known  that  even  the  most 
depraved  have  moments  when  their  better  natures  are 
in  the  ascendant ;  who  can  tell  that  on  him  does  not 
rest  the  responsibility  of  balancing  the  scales  at  such  a 
critical  moment  ?  Thirdly,  the  weight  of  his  example 
on  society ;  for  none,  not  even  the  humblest,  is  with 
out  his  influence ;  the  smallest  pebble  thrown  into  a 
lake  will  widen  out  its  circle ;  but  I  am  talking  too 
much  to  you,"  said  the  old  captain ;  "  I  think  of  these 
things  oftener  since  I  saw  poor  Rose.  You  must  for 
give  me  if  I  said  aught  to  displease  you. 

The  invalid  stretched  out  his  hand,  and  said,  with  a 
languid  smile,  "I  have  not  strength  to  talk  to  you 
about  it  now,  captain ;  but  God  will  surely  bless  you 
for  befriending  poor  Rose,-  as  you  call  her." 

"  Oh,  that 's  a  trifle !"  said  the  captain ;  "  it  was  a 
blessing  to  look  on  her  sweet  face  and  the  boy's  ;  you 
should  see  that  boy,  sir ;  any  father  might  have  been 
proud  of  him.  Good-day ;  bear  up,  now.  Nobody 
dies  of  sea-sickness.  We  shall  make  port  before  long. 
Let  me  know  if  you  want  any  thing.  Good-day,  sir." 


CHAPTER   LXII. 

"  WEEPING!  dear  Gertrude,"  exclaimed  John,  as  he 
entered  his  sister's  studio,  and  seated  himself  by  her 
side. 

Gertrude  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  without 
replying. 

"  You  do  not  often  see  me  thus,"  she  said,  after  a 
pause.  "  To-day  is  the  anniversary  of  my  husband's 
death,  and  as  I  sat  at  the  window  and  saw  the  autumn 
wind  showering  down  the  bright  leaves,  I  thought  of 
that  mournful  October  day,  when,  turning  despairingly 
away  from  his  dying  moans,  I  walked  to  the  window 
of  his  sick  room,  and  saw  the  leaves  eddying  past  as 
they  do  now.  I  could  almost  see  again  before  me  that 
pallid  face,  almost  hear  those  fleeting,  spasmodic  breaths, 
and  all  the  old  agony  woke  up  again  within  me.  And 
yet,"  said  Gertrude,  smiling  through  her  tears,  "  such 
blissful  memories  of  his  love  came  with  it !  Oh !  surely, 
John,  love  like  this  perishes  not  with  its  object — -dies 
not  in  this  world  ? 

"  And  my  little  Arthur,  too,  John — you  have  never 
seen  my  treasures.  You  have  never  looked  upon  the 
faces  which  made  earth  such  a  paradise  for  me ;"  and 


EOSE     CLARK. 


touching  a  spring  in  a  rosewood  box  near  her,  Ger 
trude  drew  from  it  the  pictures  of  her  husband  and 
child,  and  as  John  scanned  their  features  in  silence, 
she  leaned  upon  his  shoulder,  and  the  bright  tear 
drops  fell  like  rain  upon  them. 

"  It  is  seldom  that  I  allow  myself  to  look  at  them," 
she  said.  "  I  were  unfitted  else  for  life's  duties." 

"  It  is  a  fine  face,",  said  John,  gazing  at  that  of  Ger 
trude's  husband.  "  It  is  a  faithful  index  of  the  noble 
soul  you  worship.  Your  boy's  face  is  yours  in  minia 
ture,  Gertrude." 

"Yes;  and  I  so  deplored  it  after  my  husband's 
death ;  I  used  to  watch  so  eagerly  for  one  flitting  ex 
pression  of  his  father's." 

John  replaced  the  pictures  in  the  box  with  a  sigh, 
and  sat  a  few  moments  thinking. 

"Gertrude,  do  you  know  that  your  nature  would 
never  have  fully  developed  itself  in  prosperity  ?  The 
rain  was  as  needful  as  the  sunshine  to  ripen  and  per 
fect  it." 

"  Yes,  I  feel  that,"  said  his  sister.  "  And  when  I 
look  around  and  see  divided  households ;  husbands  and 
wives  wedded  to  misery ;  parents,  whose  clutching  love 
for  gold  swallows  up  every  parental  feeling ;  children, 
whose  memories  of  home  are  hate,  and  discord,  and  all 
uncharitableness,  I  hug  my  brief  day  of  unalloyed  hap 
piness  to  my  bosom,  and  cheerfully  accept  my  lot  at 
His  hand  who  hath  disposed  it." 


CHAPTER    IXIII. 

"DEAR  TOM—- 

"  Received  your  last  letter  by  the  Baltic.  It 
a  gem,  as  usual.  If  your  book  is  half  as  good,  you  will 
make  your  reputation  and  a  fortune  out  of  it.  I  knew 
you  would  like  Paris ;  it  is  the  only  place  in  the  world 
to  live  in.  I  hope  yet  to  end  my  days  there. 

"  And  speaking  of  ending  days,  I  have  the  most  ex 
traordinary  thing  to  tell  you : 

"Jack — our  glorious  dare-devil  Jack — has  turned 
parson!  Actual  parson — black  coat,  white  neck-tie, 
and  long-tailed  surtout — it  is  incredible !  The  little 
opera-dancer,  Felissitimi,  laughed  till  she  was  black  in 
the  face  when  I  told  her.  It  is  no  laughing  matter  to 
me,  though,  for  he  was  always  my  shadow.  I  miss  him 
at  the  club,  the  billiard-table,  at  King  street,  and  every 
where  else.  It  is  confoundedly  provoking.  I  feel  like 
half  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  wander  round  in  a  most  un- 
riveted  state. 

"  Such  crowds  as  Jack  draws  to  hear  him  I     There 
is  no  church  in  town  that  will  hold  all  his  admiring 
listeners.    /  have  not  been,  from  principle,  because  I 
17 


386  ROSE     CLARK. 

think  all  that  sort  of  thing  is  a  deuced  humbug,  and  I 
won't  countenance  it.  But  the  other  night,  Menia  did 
not  perform,  as  was  announced  on  the  play-bills,  and 
I  looked  about  quite  at  a  loss  where  to  spend  my 
evening.  The  first  thing  I  knew,  I  found  myself  borne 
along  with  the  current  toward  John's  church.  Then  I 
said  to  myself,  '  Now  if  that  crowd  choose  to  relieve 
me  of  the  responsibility  of  countenancing  John's  non 
sense,  by  pushing  me  into  that  church,  well  and  good ;' 
so  I  just  resigned  myself  to  the  elbowing  tide.  And, 
by  Jove !  the  first  thing  I  knew,  there  I  was,  in  a 
broad  aisle-pew,  sitting  down  as  demure  as  if  I  were 
Aminidab  Sleek. 

"Well,  pretty  soon  John  came  in.  How  well  he 
had  got  himself  up  in  that  black  suit !  It  was  miracu 
lous.  I  looked  round  on  the  women — he  had  them ! 
With  that  musical  voice  of  his,  even  that  old  hymn 
he  read,  sounded  as  well  as  any  thing  of  Byron's. 
His  prayer  was  miraculous ! — I  can't  think  how  he  did 
it ;  one  would  have  supposed  he  felt  every  syllable ;  but 
you  and  I  know  Jack. 

"Well,  then  came  the  sermon.  'Cast  thy  bread 
upon  the  waters,  for  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many 
days.'  He  said  it  was  in  the  Bible,  and  I  suppose  it 
was ;  I  never  heard  of  it  before,  but  that  may  be  for 
want  of  reading.  By  that  time  I  was  all  eyes  and 
ears.  I  knew  he  had  impudence  enough,  so  I  was  not 
afraid  of  his  breaking  down ;  and  if  he  did,  so  much 


ROSE     CLARK.  387 


the  better;  there  'd  be  something  to  laugh  at 
about. 

"  Now,  Tom,  you  can't  credit  what  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  ;  that  fellow  began  to  relate  his  own  experi 
ence  ;  beginning  with  the  prayers  and  hymns  his  mother 
taught  him,  and  which  he  gradually  lost  the  recollec 
tion  of  after  she  died,  and  as  he  grew  older  ;  then  he 
described  —  and,  by  Jove,  he  did  it  well  —  his  past  down 
ward  steps,  as  he  called  them  (I  think  that  expression 
is  open  to  discussion,  Tom),  the  temptations  of  his 
youth,  the  gradual  searing  of  conscience,  and  Satan's 
final  triumph,  when  he  cast  off  all  restraint,  and  ac 
knowledged  no  law  but  the  domination  of  his  own  mad 
passions.  Then  he  described  his  life  at  that  point,  our 
life  —  (I  wonder  if  he  saw  me  there  ?)  he  spoke  of  the 
occasional  twinges  of  conscience,  growing  fainter, 
fainter,  and  at  last  dying  out  altogether. 

"  Then  came  his  waking  up  from  that  long  trance 
of  sin,  our  meeting  with  that  old  lady  in  the  street  — 
(you  remember,  Tom),  and  the  tearful  look  which  she 
bent  on  him,  when  in  reply  to  some  remark  of  mine, 
he  exclaimed, 

"  «  Jesus  Christ  !' 

"  Then,  how  that  look  had  haunted  him,  tortured 
him,  by  day  and  night  ;  how  it  had  wakened  to  new  life 
all  the  buried  memories  of  childhood  —  his  mother's 
prayers  and  tears,  and  dying  words  ;  and  how,  after 
wrestling  with  it,  through  deeper  depths  of  sin  than 


388  KOBE     CLAKK. 

any  into  which  he  had  yet  plunged,  he  had  yielded  to  the 
holy  spell,  and  that  *  Jesus  Christ'  had  now  become  to 
him,  with  penitential  utterance,  'My  Lord  and  my 
God.' 

"  Tom — there  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  that  church  when 
Jack  got  through,  no — not  even  mine,  for  I  caught  the 
infection  (I  might  as  well  own  it) ;  I  felt  as  wicked  as 
old  King  Herod ;  and  all  day  to-day — it  is  a  rainy  day, 
though,  and  I  suppose,  when  the  sun  shines  out,  I  shall 
feel  better,  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  that  sermon 
out  of  my  mind.  I  don't  believe  in  it,  of  course  not ; 
hang  me  if  I  know  what  does  ails  me ;  I  am  inclined  to 
think  it  is  a  bad  fit  of  indigestion.  I  must  have  a  game 
at  billiards.  Write  me. 

"Tours, 

"  FINELS." 


CHAPTER   LXIV. 

"  How  you  grow,  Charley,"  said  John,  tossing  him 
up  on  his  shoulder,  and  walking  up  to  the  looking- 
glass.  "  It  seems  but  yesterday  that  you  lay  wrapped 
up  in  your  blanket  a-board  Captain  Lucas'  ship  with 
your  thumb  in  your  mouth  (that  unfailing  sign  of  a 
good-natured  baby),  thinking  of  nothing  at  ah1;  and 
now  here  you  are  six  years'  old  to-day — think  of  that 
man  ?  and  I  dare  say  you  expect  a  birth-day  present." 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,"  said  Charley. 

"  There,  now ;  that  is  to  the  point.  I  like  an  honest 
boy.  What  will  you  have,  Charley  ?" 

"  Something  pretty  for  my  mamma,"  said  the  loving 
little  heart. 

"  Better  still,"  said  John  ;  "  but  mamma  won't  take 
presents.  I  have  tried  her  a  great  many  times.  There 
is  one  I  want  very  much  to  make  her,  but  she  always 
says  '  No.' "  And  John  glanced  at  Gertrude. 

"  Mind  what  you  say,"  whispered  his  sister.  "  He 
might  chance  to  repeat  it  to  his  mother." 

"  So  much  the  better,  Gertrude.  Then  she  will  be 
sure  to  think  of  me  at  least  one  minute. 


390  EOSE     CLAEK. 

"  But,  Charley,  tell  me  what  you  want.  I  would 
like  to  get  you  something  for  yourself." 

"I  want  my  papa,"  said  Charley,  resolutely.  "Tommy 
Fritz  keeps  saying  that  I  'haven't  got  any  papa.' 
Have  n't  I  got  a  papa,  cousin  John  ?" 

"  You  have  a  Father  in  heaven,"  said  John,  kissing 
Charley  as  he  evaded  the  earnest  question. 

"  When  did  he  die  ?  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about 
him,  cousin  John,  because  Tommy  Fritz  sits  next  me 
at  school  and  teases  me  so  about  not  having  any  papa." 

"Fritz?"  repeated  John,  turning  to  Gertrude; 
"  Fritz  ? — the  name  sounds  familiar.  Where  could  I 
have  heard  it  ?  Fritz  ?"  and  John  paced  up  and  down 
the  room,  trying  to  remember. 

"Yes,  Tommy  Fritz,"  repeated  Charley;  "and 
Tommy's  big  brother  comes  to  school  with  him  some 
days,  and  he  saw  me,  and  told  Tommy  that  I  had  n't 
any  papa." 

"  Did  you  say  any  thing  to  your  mamma  about  it  ?" 
asked  John. 

"  No,"  said  Charley,  with  a  very  resolute  shake  of 
the  head,  "  because  it  always  makes  mamma  look  so 
Bad  when  I  talk  to  her  about  papa ;  but  I  don't  want 
Tommy  to  plague  me  any  more.  Is  it  bad  not  to  have 
a  papa,  cousin  John  ?" 

"  There  are  a  great  many  little  boys  whose  papas  are 
dead,"  said  John.  "  Yes,  it  is  bad  for  them,  because 
they  feel  lonesome  without  them,  just  as  you  do." 


HOSE     CLAEK.  391 

Charley  looked  very  earnestly  in  John's  face,  as  if 
he  were  not  satisfied  with  his  answer,  and  yet  as  if  ho 
did  not  know  how  better  to  make  himself  understood. 
Looking  thoughtfully  on  the  ground  a  few  moments, 
he  said — 

"  Was  my  papa  good,  cousin  John  ?" 

John  drew  Charley  closer  to  his  breast.  "  I  did  not 
know  your  papa,  my  dear,  but  your  mamma  loves  him 
very  much,  and  she  is  so  good  herself  that  I  think  she 
would  not  love  him  so  were  he  not  a  good  man." 

"  I  'm  so  glad !"  exclaimed  Charley,  with  sparkling 
eyes.  "  May  I  tell  Tommy  Fritz  that  ?"  he  asked,  with 
the  caution  acquired  by  too  early  an  acquaintance  with 
sorrow. 

"  Certainly,"  said  John,  secretly  resolving  to  inquire 
into  this  Fritz  matter  himself. 

"  Your  mother  is  calling  you,  Charley,"  said  Ger 
trude.  "  Poor  little  fellow,"  she  added,  as  he  ran  nim 
bly  out  of  the  room.  "  Just  think  of  a  child  with  such  a 
frank  outspoken  nature,  burying  such  a  corroding  mys 
tery  in  his  own  loving  little  heart,  rather  than  pain  his 
mother  by  asking  for  a  solution.  Poor  Rose — the 
haunting  specter  which  her  prophet-eye  discerned  in 
her  child's  future,  has  assumed  shape  sooner  than  even 
she  dreamed.  Who  Han  this  'big  Fritz'  be,  John? 
and  where  could  he  have  known  Rose  ?" 

"  I  have  it,"  exclaimed  John,  stopping  suddenly  be 
fore  his  sister,  with  a  deep  red  flush  upon  his  face. 


392  ROSE     CLAR£. 

"  This  Fritz  was  a  fellow-passenger  of  Rose's  and  mine 
on  board  Captain  Lucas's  vessel.  The  conceited  puppy 
imagined  that  Rose  would  save  him  the  trouble  of 
gathering  her  by  dropping  at  his  feet — he  found  thorns 
instead  of  a  rose,  and  his  wounded  vanity  has  taken 
this  mean  revenge.  •  But  he  shah1  learn  Rose  has  a 
protector,"  said  John,  folding  his  arms,  and  closing  his 
lips  firmly  together. 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  rashly,"  said  he,  shaking  off  the 
clasp  of  Gertrude's  hand.  "  Puppy" — he  exclaimed — 
"  contemptible  coward,  with  all  his  pretensions  to  the 
title  of  a  gentleman,  to  slander  a  woman !" 

"Defining  the  word  gentleman  in  that  way,"  an 
swered  Gertrude,  "the  ranks  would  be  pretty  well 
thinned  out.  Some  do  it  with  a  shrug — some  with  an 
uplifted  eyebrow — some  with  a  curl  of  the  lip — some 
with  a  protracted  whistle ;  and  many  a  '  gentleman,'  to 
make  himself  the  paltry  hero  of  the  hour,  has  uttered 
boasting  words  of  vanity,  false  as  his  own  black  heart ; 
and  many  a  virtuous  woman  has  had  occasion  to  repel 
insults  growing  out  of  this  dastardly  mention  of  her 
name  before  strangers,  that  else  would  never  have  been 
offered  her.  The  crime  is  so  common  as  to  excite  little 
or  no  reprehension,  as  to  be  little  or  no  barrier  in  the 
intercourse  between  gentlemenTlf  every  man  who  hon 
ors  woman,  and  who  finds  himself  in  such  unscrupulous 
society — testified  his  abhorrence  by  turning  his  back 
upon  such  a  circle,  the  rebuke  would  soon  tell.  There 


ROSE     CLARK.  393 

are  those  whose  standard  of  manly  honor  requires  this 
in  an  associate. 

"What!  going,  John ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  too  irritable  to  be  good  company ;  I 
must  cool  off  my  indignation  by  a  walk  in  the  open 
air.  Go  and  sit  with  Rose,  Gertrude  ;  it  may  be  that 
Charley  may  drop  some  word  that  will  make  known  to 
her  this  new  trouble." 

"Never  fear  him,"  said  Gertrude,  "I  don't  know 
whether  to  call  it  instinct  or  tact,  but  he  always  seems 
to  know  what  to  say,  and  what  to  leave  unsaid ;  he  has 
the  most  lightning  perceptions  of  any  child  I  ever  saw. 
No  subtle  shade  of  meaning  in  conversation  seems 
to  escape  him,  and  he  will  often  drop  a  remark  which 
convinces  you  that  he  has  grasped  the  subject  at  the 
very  moment  you  are  contriving  some  way  to  eluci 
date  your  meaning.  Poor  little  Charley — it  is  always 

such  natures  whose  heritage  is  sorrow." 

17* 


CHAPTER   LXV. 

THE  old  Bond  mansion,  thougn  threatening  to  tum 
ble  down  at  every  wind-gust,  stood  just  where  Rose 
had  left  it.  The  woodbine  still  festooned  its  piazza 
with  green  garlands  in  summer,  and  scarlet  and  purple 
berries  and  leaves  in  autumn.  The  tall  butternut-trees 
still  stood  sentinel  before  it,  the  old  moss-roofed 
barn  leaned  over  on  one  side,  like  some  old  veteran 
whose  work  was  almost  done,  and  the  iron-gray  horse 
still  took  his  afternoon-roll  on  the  grass-plot  before  the 
door,  kicking  up  his  hoofs  in  the  very  face  of  old  Time 
The  brown  chickens,  once  Charley's  delight,  had  be 
come  respectable  mothers  of  families,  and  clucked 
round  after  their  lordly  chanticleer,  too  happy  to  es 
cape  with  half  a  dozen  rebuffs  a  day  from  his  majesty, 
and  old  Bruno,  the  house-dog,  took  longer  naps  on  the 
sunny  side  of  the  house,  and  was  less  irascible  at  tin 
peddlers  and  stray  cattle.  The  once  nicely-kept  little 
garden  was  overrun  with  pig-weed  and  nettles,  and 
the  tall,  slender  hollyhocks  swung  hither  and  thither 
with  their  flushed  faces,  like  some  awkward  over 
grown  school-girl,  looking  for  a  place  to  hide. 


ROSE     CLAKK.  395 

It  was  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  yet  old  Mrs. 
Bond  had  not  thrown  open  the  kitchen-door  opposite 
the  well-sweep,  or  filled  the  tea-kettle,  or  kindled 
up  the  kitchen-fire  for  tea.  But  look !  a  strange 
woman  steps  out  upon  the  piazza ;  such  a  woman  as 
every  country  village  boasts ;  round,  rubicund,  check- 
aproned  and  spectacled,  with  very  long  cap-strings, 
turtle-shaped  feet,  thick  ancles,  and  no  waist.  With 
her  fat,  red  hands  crossed  over  the  place  where  her 
waist  once  was,  she  steps  out  on  the  piazza  and  looks 
over  her  spectacles,  this  way  and  that,  up  and  down 
the  road. 

The  little  brook  babbles  on  as  usual,  and  the  linden- 
trees  and  maples  are  nodding  and  whispering  to  each 
other  across  the  road ;  but  nothing  else  is  stirring.  So 
Mrs.  Simms  goes  back  into  the  house,  and  closes  the 
door,  and  Bruno  gives  a  low  growl  to  signify  that  all 
is  right,  as  far  as  he  knows. 

Then  Mrs.  Simms  lays  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the 
sitting-room  door,  and  softly  glides  in.  It  is  very 
dark ;  just  a  ray  of  light  is  shining  in  through  a  chink 
in  the  shutter.  She  opens  it  a  little  further,  and  the 
pleasant  afternoon  sunlight  streams  in  across  the  floor 
— across  the  pine  table — across  the  coffin — across  the 
placid  face  of  good,  dear,  old  Mrs.  Bond. 

She  has  gone  to  that  city  where  "there  is  no  need  of 
the  sun,  nor  of  the  moon,  to  shine  in  it,  for  the  glory  of 
God  doth  lighten  it,,  and  the  Lamb  is  the  light  thereof." 


396  ROSE     CLARK. 

And  now  the  neighbors  drop  in  gently,  one  by  one. 
Not  one  there  but  can  remember  some  simple  act  of 
kindness,  which  makes  the  warm  tears  drop  upon  the 
placid  face,  upon  which  they  are  looking  for  the  last 
time.  Mrs.  Bond  had  no  kin ;  and  yet  every  trembling 
lip  there,  called  her  "  mother." 

Not  for  thee,  "  mother,"  whom  the  busy  world  hon 
ored  not,  whom  the  Lord  of  Glory  crowned ;  not  for 
thee  the  careless  city  sepulture,  the  jostled  hearse,  the 
laughing,  noisy,  busy  crowd.  Reverently  the  prayer  is 
said ;  now  the  little,  rosy  child  is  lifted  up,  to  see  how 
sweet  a  smile  even  icy  Death  may  wear ;  and  now  toil- 
hardened  hands,  though  kindly,  bear  her  gently  on  to 
the  quiet  corner  in  the  leafy  church-yard,  to  which  she 
has  so  long  looked  forward.  The  mold  has  fallen  on 
her  breast,  the  grave  is  spaded  over,  and  still  they 
linger,  loth  to  leave  even  to  the  fragrant  night,  the 
kindly  heart  which  had  beat  so  long  responsive  to 
their  homely  joys  and  sorrows. 

Oh,  many  such  an  earth-dimmed  diamond  shall  Je 
hovah  set  sparkling  in  his  crown,  in  the  day  when  he 
maketh  up  his  jewels. 


CHAPTER  LXVL 

IT  is  astonishing  the  miles  one  may  pass  over  uncon 
sciously  when  one's  mind  is  absorbed  in  thought. 
John  strode  rapidly  down  street,  after  his  interview 
with  Gertrude,  running  against  foot-passengers  with  an 
audacity  which  his  bland  "beg  pardon"  scarcely 
atoned  for.  Some  scowled,  some  muttered  "tipsy;" 
an  old  apple-woman  whose  basket  he  upset,  picked  up 
the  half-dollar  he  threw  her  with  a  very  equivocal  look 
of  thanks,  and  a  lady  whose  flounces  he  pinned  to  the 
sidewalk,  darted  vengeance  at  him,  from  a  pair  of  eyes 
evidently  made  only  for  love-glances.  Poor,  distracted 
John  !  pedestrians  should  have  seen  that  his  elbow  had 
a  pugilistic  crook  in  it,  which  might  have  notified  any 
one  with  half  an  eye,  that  he  was  in  a  state  of  ^nind. 
But  it  is  heart-rending  how  indifferent  and  stupid  the 
out-door  world  is  to  one's  individual  frames.  The  hard 
hearted  teamster  persists  in  halting  his  cart  on  the 
only  dry  street-crossing,  though  bright  eyes  look  down 
imploringly  at  pretty  gaiter  boots;  gentlemen  who 
have  practiced  before  the  looking-glass  the  most  killing 
way  of  carrying  a  cane,  and  finally  settled  down  upon 


398  KOSE     CLARK. 

the?1  arm-pit  style,  mercilessly  extinguish  unwary  eyea 
with  the  protruding  weapon.  It  matters  not  to  the 
smoker  that  he  poisons  the  fresh  air  upon  which  one 
has  depended  to  cure  a  villainous  headache.  It  mat 
ters  not  that  the  stain  of  the  cigar-stump  he  tosses 
upon  your  dress,  is  as  indelible  as  the  stamp  of  loafer- 
ism  upon  the  best-dressed  man  who  smokes  in  the 
street.  It  matters  not  to  the  grocer's  boy,  as  he  walks 
with  his  head  hind  side  before,  that  he  draws  a  slimy 
salt-fish  across  a  silk  mantle,  or  fetches  up  against  a 
brocade  with  a  quart  of  molasses.  It  matters  not  that 
you  are  unable  to  decide  whether  the  world  is  not  big 
enough,  or  whether  there  are  too  many  people  in  it ; 
the  census  keeps  going  on  all  the  same. 

As  our  hero  was  sufficiently  unfashionable  never  to 
have  defiled  his  very  handsome  mouth  with  a  cigar,  he 
had  no  escape-valve  for  his  irritation  but  accelerated 
motion;  and  that  brought  him,  after  a  time,  to  the 
door  of  a  restaurant  which  stood  invitingly  open.  En 
tering,  partly  from  weariness,  partly  from  extreme  thirst, 
consequent  upon  being  in  an  excited  state,  he  seated 
himself  in  a  curtained  alcove,  and  tossing  his  hat  on 
the  table,  gave  his  order  to  the  waiter,  and  listlessly 
took  up  a  newspaper.  Ere  his  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
any  particular  paragraph,  voices  in  the  next  alcove  at- 
tracted  his  attention. 

"  Do  you  stay  long  in  the  city  ?" 

"  I  think  not ;  only  a  day  or  two." 


ROSE     CLARK.  S99 

"  Well,  there  are  plenty  of  things  to  look  at,  if  you 
are  fond  of  sight-seeing ;  and  if  your  taste  runs  to 
women,  we  have  plenty  of  fair  faces.  There  is  one  in 

street — ripe,  rosy  lips — such  a  foot,  and  such  a 

symmetrical  little  form ;  knows  what  she  is  about,  too 
— demure  as  a  nun  and  sly  as  a  priest ;  took  me  com 
pletely  in  with  her  Methodist  way.  I  thought  she  was 
what  she  pretended  to  be,  and  all  the  time  she  was 
carrying  on  a  most  desp  3rate  flirtation  with  a  fellow  by 
the  name  of  Perry.  She  was  a  picture,  that  little  Rose, 
and  now  it  seems  he  has  caged  her  at  last." 

"  Rose  ?     Married  her  ?» 

"  Lord  bless  you,  no — of  course  not.  He  schools  the 
boy,  and  all  that — pays  the  bills,  etc. — you  understand. 
The  boy  goes  to  school  with  my  little  brother  ;  that 's 
the  way  I  tracked  her  out.  You  see,  it  was  on  board 
ship  I  first  saw  her,  and  then  I  lost  sight  of  her  again 
until  I  got  this  clew.  This  whining  Perry  carried  her 
off  under  my  very  nose — I — who  have  had  such  success ; 
well,  I  don't  wish  to  boast,  but  Perry's  money  was  the 
thing — women  are  mercenary  creatures.  I  suppose  she 
passes  here  for  respectable.  They  have  a  lady  with 
them  whom  Perry  pretends  is  his  sister,  to  give  it  a 
more  respectable  air.  No  woman  treats  me  with  con 
tempt  without  rueing  it.  By  Jupiter,  she  was  as  im 
perious  as  a  duchess  because  I  honored  her  with  a  few 
compliments.  I  '11  turn  their  little  comedy  into  a  trag 
edy,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Fritz." 


400  ROSE     CLARK. 

"  I  will  save  you  that  trouble,"  exclaimed  John,  dart 
ing  into  the  alcove,  and  slapping  him  across  the  face 
with  his  glove.  "  There  's  my  card.  You  know  me, 
sir,"  ani  he  stood  facing  him  with  folded  arms. 

It  is  half  the  battle  to  have  right  on  one's  side,  and 
Fritz  was  taken  at  a  liar's  disadvantage.  Conscious  of 
this,  he  made  no  attempt  at  a  retort,  but  pointing  to 
"his  friend,"  muttered  something  to  John  about 
"  hearing  from  him." 

John  strode  out  into  the  open  air,  to  the  astonishment 
of  the  open-mouthed  waiter,  who  stood,  tray  in  hand. 

"  A  word  with  you,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman,  whom 
he  had  just  seen  in  Fritz's  company,  following  him. 
"  The  lady  who  was  the  occasion  of  this  quarrel — 
'  Rose' — I  would  speak  of  her." 

"  I  am  not  accustomed  to  hearing  her  so  familiarly 
designated  by  a  stranger,"  answered  Perry,  haughtily. 

"  Pardon  me  !"  exclaimed  the  gentleman,  much  agi 
tated.  "I — I — in  fact,  sir,  I  am  a  stranger  to  Mr. 
Fritz.  We  met  casually  in  a  railroad-car,  and  meeting 
me  just  now  before  De  Marco's,  he  invited  me  in  to 
take  a  glass  of  wine  with  him.  I  have  declined  having 
any  thing  to  do  as  his  second  in  this  affair.  His  man 
ner  to  you  convinced  me  that  he  has  no  right  to  con 
sider  himself  a  gentleman.  "With  regard  to  the  lady, 
sir,  it  may  seem  to  you  an  impertinence  that  I  should 
speak  of  her  again — the  name  attracted  me — it  is  that 
of  a  dear  lost  friend — I  fancied  this  might  be  she,"  and 


ROSE     CLARK.  401 

the  speaker  became  more  agitated.  "  Now — it  is  at 
your  option,  sir,  whether  to  pursue  the  subject  further." 

John  looked  him  in  the  face;  there  was  goodness 
there,  and  must  have  been  sorrow,  too — for  the  eyes 
were  sunken  and  the  form  emaciated,  and  his  thin  pale 
hands  were  as  transparent  as  a  woman's. 

"  Could  this  be  lie  ?"  and  John  in  his  turn  became 
agitated. 

"If  it  were ?  should  he  lead  him  out  of  this  laba- 
rynth  of  doubt  ?  should  he  place  in  his  hand  the  thread 
which  should  conduct  him  through  its  dim  shadows 
out  under  the  clear  blue  sky,  'mid  soil  breezes  and 
blossoming  flowers  ?  or  leave  him  there  to  grope, 
while  he  wooed  the  blessed  sun-light  for  his  own  path  ?" 

The  temptation  was  but  for  a  moment. 

"You  seem  feeble,"  said  John,  kindly,  though  his 
voice  still  trembled  with  emotion ;  "  do  me  the  favor 
to  accompany  me  home,  and  then  we  will  talk  of  this 
more  at  length." 

The  two  walked  on,  overshadowed  each  with  the 
presence  of  a  power,  of  which  all  of  us  have  been  at 
some  eventful  moment  conscious,  and  over  which  the 
conventionalities  of  life  have  had  no  control.  It  did 
not  seem  strange  therefore  to  either,  that  they  who 
had  exchanged  words,  so  fraught  with  meaning  to 
each,  should  walk  on  side  by  side  in  thoughtful  silence. 


CHAPTER   IIVII. 

ARRIVED  at  John's  lodgings,  he  ushered  the  stranger 
in  io  Gertrude's  studio,  of  which  she  had  given  him  the 
key  when  they  parted,  as  she  intended  riding  out  with 
Rose.  Motioning  him  to  a  seat,  and  adding  that  he 
would  rejoin  him  presently,  John  left  him  there  alone. 

The  stranger  looked  around ;  there  were  landscape, 
game,  fruit,  cattle,  and  flower  pieces,  and  all  so  ex 
quisitely  painted  that  any  other  moment  each  would 
have  been  a  study  to  him — now  heart  and  brain  were 
both  pre-o ccupied.  What  was  in  store  for  him?  He 
felt  this  to  be  a  turning-point  in  his  life. 

A  slight  jar,  and  a  picture,  which  stands  with  the 
back  toward  him,  falls  over.  The  stranger  rises,  and 
stoops  to  replace  it ! 

Ah ! — why  that  suppressed  cry  of  joy  ?  Why  those 
passionate  kisses  on  the  insensible  canvas  ?  Why  those 
fast-falling  tears,  and  heart-beaming  smiles  ? 

"  It  is  not  your  mamma — it  is  my  mamma,"  said 
Charley,  stepping  up  between  the  picture  and  the 
stranger. 


ROSE     CLARK.  403 

"  His  own  eyes !  his  own  brow !  and  Rose's  sweet 
mouth  !  his  own,  and  Rose's  child ! 

"  My  God,  I  thank  thee !"  he  murmured ;  but  the  thin 
arms  that  were  outstretched  to  clasp  his  new  fgund 
treasure,  fell  powerless  at  his  side.  To  sorrow  he  had 
become  mured ;  he  could  not  bear  the  out-gushing 
fountain  of  joy. 

John,  who  had  been  an  unseen  spectator,  had  not 
looked  for  this  tragic  termination  of  his  test.  On  his 
kind  heart  his  rival's  head  was  pillowed,  his  hand 
bathed  his  cold  temples,  his  voice  assisted  returning 
consciousness. 

"  Who  is  he  ?"  whispered  Charley,  tiptoeing  up  to 
John. 

"  Ask  him,"  whispered  John,  as  the  stranger  slowly 
opened  his  eyes. 

Charley  advanced,  then  retreated  a  step — then,  won 
by  the  beaming  smile  which  irradiated  the  stranger's 
face,  he  asked, 

"  Did  you  come  here  to  see  my  Aunt  Gertrude's 
pictures  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  stranger,  with  the  same  bright 
smile. 

"  Did  you  come  to  see  John  ?" 

"  No,  my  dear." 

"  Did  you  ccme  to  see  me  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  you  come  to  see  me,  for  ?" 


404  ROSE     CLARK. 

Drawing  him  closer  to  his  heart,  and  kissing  his 
brow,  the  stranger  said,  "  See  if  you  can  not  guess." 

Charley  looked  at  Cousin  John,  but  the  conflicting 
expressions  which  flitted  over  his  face  gave  him  no 
clew.  He  looked  at  the  stranger — his  dark  eyes  were 
brimming  with  tears,  but  the  same  smile  still  played 
upon  his  lips.  Charley  stood  for  a  moment  irresolute, 
then,  with  another  timid  look  into  his  face,  he  said,  "  I 
don't  know — certainly — who  you  are,  but — " 

"  But  what,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Perhaps — you  are  my  own  papa  come  home." 

ISTo  reply — but  a  deadly  pallor  overspread  the  stran 
ger's  face  as  he  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 
John,  who  was  standing  with  his  back  to  it,  turned 
around — and  there — in  the  doorway,  stood  Rose  with 
her  small  head  bent  forward — her  lips  apart — and  her 
dilated  eyes  fixed  upon  the  prostrate  form  before  her. 
It  was  only  for  an  instant — with  a  piercing  cry,  in 
which  fear  and  joy  both  found  utterance,  she  bounded 
to  his  side — kissed  his  brow,  his  lips,  his  eyes.  Oh,  was 
death  to  divide  them  then  ?  God  forbid ! 

"Vincent — Vincent — my  own  Vincent !"  and  in  that 
long,  idolatrous  kiss,  her  woman's  heart  absolved  the 
past,  whatever  that  past  might  be. 


CHAPTER   LXVIII. 

"  SIT  down  by  me — tell  me  what  you  have  learned 
from  Rose,"  said  John,  the  next  day  to  his  sister. 

"  His  history  is  so  singular,"  said  Gertrude,  "  fLat 
in  a  novel  it  would  be  stigmatized  as  incredible,  over 
drawn,  and  absurd ;  in  truth,  a  novelist  who  would  not 
subject  himself  to  such  charges  must  not  too  closely 
follow  Nature.  If  the  gorgeous  colors  of  our  autumnal 
scenery  were  faithfully  transferred  to  canvas,  the  artist 
would  £p  considered  a  glaring,  tasteless  burlesquer. 
Both  artist  and  novelist  must  learn  to  'tone  down' 
their  pictures ;  but  as  my  story  is  not  for  the  critic's 
ear,  but  for  yours,  John,  I  shall  tell  it  verbatim. 

VINCENT'S  HISTORY. 

"Rose  and  Vincent  were  legally  married  by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Lehmann,  a  few  miles  from  the  boarding- 
school  where  Vincent  first  saw  Rose.  Vincent  took 
her  from  thence  immediately  to  the  hotel,  where  his 
friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lehmann,  was  staying  for  a  few 
days  previous  to  his  departure  for  the  Continent.  The 


406  KOSB     CLARK. 

rector's  brother,  who  was  with  him,  was  the  witness  to 
the  ceremony. 

"Rose  and  Vincent  then  left  for  a  few  days'  so 
journ  in  a  neighboring  city.  There  Vincent  received 
intelligence  of  the  dying  condition  of  his  aged  father. 
As  his  father  had  been  unapprised  of  his  sudden  mar 
riage,  he  thought  it  not  best  to  take  Rose  with  him 
at  such  a  time; — providing,  therefore,  every  thing 
necessary  for  her  comfort,  and  expecting  to  be  gone  at 
farthest  but  a  few  days,  he  took  a  reluctant  leave  of 
her — he  little  thought  for  how  long  a  time. 

"Part  of  the  journey  lay  off  from  the  regular 
public  conveyances;  and  Vincent,  being  anxious  to 
return  to  Rose  as  soon  as  possible,  hesitated  not, 
though  the  road  was  lonely,  to  perform  it  at  night 
on  horseback.  On  this  night  he  was  met  by  a  gang 
of  desperados,  who,  unknown  to  him,  herdiAj  in  the 
vicinity,  and  who  attacked  him  and  left  him  lor  dead, 
after  possessing  themselves  of  his  watch,  pocket-book, 
and  papers.  There  he  was  found  the  next  day,  by 
a  passing  traveler,  in  an  insensible  state,  and  taken 
to  the  nearest  farm-house.  He  was  quite  unable  to 
give  any  account  of  himself;  and  not  wishing  to  be 
burdened  with  the  care  of  him,  they  put  him  into  a 
cart  and  took  him  to  the  county  poor-house.  Here 
his  sufferings,  aggravated  by  neglect,  assumed  the 
form  of  brain  fever,  and  from  thence,  after  awhile, 
he  was  removed  to  the  lunatic  asylum,  where  he 


HOSE     CLARK.  407 

remained  for  a  yaar  without  any  symptoms  of  returning 
reason. 

"  His  distress,  when  he  finally  became  conscious  of  the 
length  of  tune  which  had  elapsed  since  he  left  Rose, 
was  too  much  for  his  weak  frame.  A  relapse  ensued, 
and  for  months  longer  he  vibrated  between  life  and 
Aeath. 

"  When  consciousness  again  returned,  though  weak 
ened  in  body  and  enfeebled  in  mind,  he  commenced 
his  weary  search  for  Rose.  He  could  hear  nothing  ex 
cept  that  part  of  her  story  which  he  gleaned  from 
Mrs.  Bond,  and  which  only  served  to  aggravate  his 
distress.  Since  then  he  has  traveled  unceasingly  in 
steamboats,  railroad  cars,  and  stages ;  haunted  hotels, 
haunted  villages,  and  loitered  trembling  in  church 
yards.  There  is  no  misery  like  suspense,  and  acting 
upon  an  already  enfeebled  frame,  it  sapped  the  very 
fountains  of  life,  and  reduced  him  so  fearfully  as  to 
render  him  quite  unable  to  bear  the  sudden  shock  of 
joy  which  so  unexpectedly  met  him." 

"Poor  Vincent!"  exclaimed  John;  "and  I  have 
grudged  him  his  happiness." 

"  Bear  John !" 

"  Where  was  Charley  born,  Gertrude  ?" 

"  In  a  Lying-in  Hospital ;  in  which  poor  Rose  took 
refuge  when  the  sorrowfil  hour  drew  near. 

"  Then,"  said  Gertrude,  resuming  her  story,  "  Rose's 
husband  had  a  cousin  of  the  same  name  as  himself,  ex- 


408  ROSE     CLAEK. 

travagant,  reckless,  and  dissipated,  who,  though  only 
twenty-five,  had  run  through  a  handsome  property, 
inherited  in  his  own  right  from  his  grandmother, 
besides  making  unreasonable  demands  upon  the  pater 
nal  purse-strings.  The  old  gentleman  at  last  remon 
strated,  and  the  young  man's  affairs  being  even  worse 
than  he  had  dared  to  represent,  he  became  desperate 
and  unscrupulous. 

"  The  father  of  Rose's  husband,  who,  spite  of  the 
profligacy  of  his  nephew,  cherished  a  warm  attachment 
for  him,  had  willed  him  his  property,  in  case  of  his 
son's  death.  This  the  young  spendthrift  was  aware 
of,  and  when  he  first  heard  of  the  old  gentleman's  ill 
ness,  he  planned  with  three  desperados  to  murder  his 
cousin,  and  remove  the  only  obstacle  to  his  immediate 
possession  of  the  fortune." 

"  How  was  this  discovered  ?"  asked  John. 

"  It  was  revealed  by  one  of  the  gang  on  his  death 
bed,  though  not  until  after  the  instigator  had  met  his 
own  doom  at  the  hands  of  a  woman  whom  he  had  be 
trayed  and  deserted." 

"  Then,"  said  John,  after  a  pause,  "  Rose  and  her 
husband  have  no  immediate  means  of  support.  It  is 
happiness  to  know  that  I  can  be  of  service  even  now." 

"  But  Vincent  is  not  a  man  to  incur  such  an  obliga 
tion,"  said  his  sister,  "  enfeebled  as  he  is." 

"  He  must — he  shall,"  said  the  generous  John,  "  at 
least  till  he  is  stronger  and  better  able  to  substantiate 


HOSE     CLAKK.  409 

his  claim  to  what  is  rightfully  his  own ;  he  may  get 
even  more  than  his  own,"  said  John,  "  when  the  old 
lady  in  New  Orleans  finds  out  that  he  is  the  father  of 
the  beautiful  child  she  fancied  so  much;  the  family 
likeness  must  have  been  well  handed  down  in  Char 
ley's  face." 

"  That  is  not  strange,"  said  Gertrude ;  "  cases  have 
occurred  in  which  the  family  likeness,  after  having  been 
apparently  wholly  obliterated,  has  re-appeared  in  the 
third  or  fourth  generation." 

"Well,  Vincent's  story  passes  belief,"  said  John; 
"  truth  is,  indeed,  stranger  than  fiction." 


18 


CHAPTER    IXIX. 

HAD  cousin  John  no  war  to  wage  with  self?  Could 
the  long-hoarded  hope  of  years  be  relinquished  without 
a  struggle  ?  Could  blissful  days  and  nights,  in  which 
to  breathe  the  same  air  with  Rose,  win  .even  the  faint 
est  smile,  were  reward  enough  for  any  toil, — could 
such  memories  cease  at  once  to  thrill  ?  Could  he  see 
that  smile,  in  all  its  brightness,  beaming  upon  another  ? 
— hear  that  voice  ten  fold  more  musically  modulated 
whispering  (not  for  him)  words  he  would  have  died 
to  hear — and  not  feel  a  pang  bitter  as  death  ?  Tell 
me,  ye  who  have  made  earth-idols  only  to  see  them  pass 
away? 

No — cousin  John  felt  all  this ;  Rose  lost  all  was  lost 
— nothing  to  toil  for — nothing  to  hope  for — nothing  to 
live  for. 

Was  it  indeed  so  ?  He  dashed  the  unmanly  tears 
away.  Was  he,  indeed,  such  a  poor,  selfish  driveler 
that  the  happiness  of  her  whom  he  loved  was  less  dear 
to  him  than  his  own  ?  Was  it  no  joy  to  see  that  sweet 
eye  brighten  with  hope,  though  kindled  by  another  ? 
Was  it  nothing  to  see  the  shadow  of  shame  pass  from 


ROSE     CLAEK.  411 

that  fair  brow,  and  see  it  lifted  in  the  world's  scornful 
face  in  loving  pride  to  him  who  rightfully  called  her 
"  wife  ?"•  Was  it  nothing  that  Charley's  little  heaving 
heart  had  found  his  own  papa  ? 

"  Shame — shame — was  his  manly  heart  powerless  to 
bear  what  she,  whom  he  so  loved,  had  borne  in  all  her 
woman's  feebleness  ?" 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  so,  John,"  said  Gertrude,  gaz 
ing  into  her  brother's  calm  face,  in  which  the  traces 
of  suffering  still  lingered.  "  I  knew  you  could  con 
quer" — and  tears  of  sympathy  fell  upon  the  hand  she 
pressed. 


CHAPTER    LXX. 

"  SIT  down,"  said  John,  a  few  hours  after,  as  Vin 
cent  rapped  at  his  room-door.  "  I  was  just  wishing 
for  you,  although  it  were  cruel  to  monopolize  you  a 
moment,  at  such  a  time  as  this.  Sit  down — I  want  to 
confess  to  you,"  said  John,  with  a  heightened  color. 
"  It  will  make  my  heart  easier — it  will  be  better  for 
both  of  us. 

"  Vincent — you  have  taken  away  from  me  all  that 

has  made  life  dear  to  me  since  I  first  saw  your 

since  I  first  saw  Rose ;  and  yet" — and  John  reached 
out  his  hand — "  I  can  look  on  your  happiness  and  hers, 
and  thank  God  for  it.  It  has  cost  me  a  struggle — but 
it  is  all  over  now.  Peerless  as  Rose  is — I  feel  that  you 
are  worthy  of  her." 

"  I  can  not  find  words  to  say  what  I  would,"  said 
Vincent ;  "  by  my  gain,  my  dear  friend,  I  can  measure 
your  loss,"  and  he  grasped  Jokn's  hand  with  unfeigned 
emotion.  "Rose  has  spoken  of  you  to  me  in  a  way 
this  morning  that,  independent  of  this  noble  frankness 
on  your  part,  would  forever  have  insured  you  a  broth 
er's  place  in  my  heart.  How  can  I  thank  you  for  it  all  ? 


ROSE     CLARK.  413 

How  can  I  prove  to  you  my  gratitude  for  your  kind 
ness  to  me  and  mine  ?" 

"  By  not  leaving  us,"  answered  John ;  "  by  consid 
ering  my  ample  means  as  yours,  and  Rose's,  and  Char 
ley's;  by  making  my  otherwise  solitary  life  glad,  bright, 
and  blessed  by  your  presence  ;  by  placing  a  confidence 
in  me  which  you  will  never  have  cause  to  regret,"  said 
John,  with  a  flushed  brow. 

"  I  know  it — I  believe  it — I  know  it — God  bless 
you,"  said  Vincent ;  "  you  can  ask  nothing  that  I  could 
refuse.  Had  it  not  been  for  you,  I  might  never  have 
found  my  treasures.  I  will  be  your  guest  for  a  time, 
until  I  have  established  claims  which  I  must  not  neg 
lect,  for  those  who  are  dear  to  me — and  then  our 
homes  shall  be  one.  God  bless  you,  John,  my  brother." 

Rose  glided  in  !  Oh  how  surpassingly  lovely  !  with 
those  love-brimming  eyes  and  that  sunny  smile.  Plac 
ing  her  little  hand  in  John's,  she  said,  "  and  my 
brother,  too." 

"  Seal  it  with  a  kiss,  Rose,"  said  Vincent. 

"  That  I  will,"  exclaimed  the  happy  little  wife.  "Kiss 
me,  John." 

"  Me,  too,"  said  Charley.  "  Oh,  John,  is  not  lie 
(pointing  to  Vincent)  all  of  our  papas?  Mayn't  I  run 
and  tell  Tommy  Fritz  ?" 


CHAPTER    LXXI. 

IT  was  a  cold  January  night.  The  stars  glowed  and 
sparkled,  and  ever  and  anon  shot  rapidly  across  the 
clear  blue  sky,  as  if  it  was  out  of  all  reason  to  expect 
them  to  stay  on  duty  such  a  bitter  night,  without  a 
little  occasional  exercise. 

The  few  pedestrians  whom  business  had  unfortunate 
ly  driven  out,  hurried  along  with  rapid  strides,  steam 
ing  breath,  and  hands  thrust  into  their  pockets ; 
and,  as  their  arms  protruded,  handle-fashion,  they 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  so  many  brown  jugs  in 
locomotion. 

Through  many  a  richly-curtained  window,  the  bright 
lights  gleamed  cheerfully,  while  the  merry  song  or 
laugh  from  within,  might  be  heard  by  the  shivering 
outsiders,  quickening  the  steps  of  those  who  were  so 
lucky  as  to  have  firesides  of  their  own,  and  making  the 
night,  to  those  who  had  none,  seem  still  more  cold  and 
drear. 

Beneath  one  of  these  brilliantly-lighted  windows, 
down  upon  the  frosty  pavement,  crouched  a  bundle  of 
rags,  it  scarce  seemed  more,  so  motionless  had  it  lain 


HOSE    CLAEK.  415 

there,  for  hours;  for  on  such  a  bitter  night  no 
one  felt  inclined  to,  stop  and  investigate  it ;  and  yet 
there  was  life  within  it,  feeble  and  flickering  though  it 
was. 

Now  and  then  a  pair  of  hollow  eyes  gleamed  out, 
and  gazed  wildly  about,  and  then  the  lids  would  close 
over  them,  and  the  head  droop  back  again  to  its  old 
posture. 

Now  and  then  a  murmur  issued  from  the  parched 
lips,  and  one  might  have  heard,  had  he  been  very 
near,  the  words — 

"  Mercy !  mercy !" 

And  still  from  the  window  above,  the  bird-like  voice 
caroled  out  its  sweet  song,  and  merry  voices  joined  in 
the  chorus. 

Now  a  little  child,  with  broad,  expansive  brow,  and 
sweet,  soul-lit  eyes,  parts  the  rich  damask  curtains,  and 
pressing  his  little  face  closely  against  the  window-pane, 
gazes  out  into  the  frosty  night. 

"  How  brightly  the  gleaming  stars  shine  !  I  wonder 
how  long  have  they  shone  ?  I  wonder  are  they 
really  all  little  worlds?  and  people  in  them?  1 
wonder — "  and  here  the  child  stopped,  for  the  bundle 
of  rags  beneath  the  window  gave  a  convulsive  heave, 
and  his  quick  ear  had  caught  the  words  despair  had 
uttered  : 

"Mercy!  mercy!" 

"  Oh !  papa— dear  papa,  Gertrude,  John,  oh,  come!" 


416  ROSE     CLAEK. 

and  with  heart  of  pity  and  winged  feet,  little  Char 
ley  darted  through  the  dining-room  door,  out  into  the- 
wide  hall,  and  down  the  steps  to  the  bundle  of  rags 
whence  the  sound  issued. 

The  eyes  had  closed  again,  the  head  had  drooped, 
and  the  poor  thin,  outstretched  hands  fallen  hope 
lessly  down  upon  the  frosty  pavement. 

"  Run  in,  Charley,"  said  John ;  "  the  air  is  bitter 
cold.  Move  away,  dear,  and  let  me  take  this  poor 
creature  up." 

It  was  a  light  burthen,  that  bundle  of  rags,  though 
the  heart  beneath  it  was  so  heavy. 

Rose  and  Gertrude  sprang  forward  and  arranged 
pillows  on  the  sofa  for  the  dying  woman,  for  such  she 
seemed  to  be,  and  chafed  her  hands  and  temples,  while 
John  and  Vincent  dropped  some  wine  between  the 
pale  lips. 

Slowly  she  opened  her  eyes.  Warmth !  light !  kind 
words !  kind  faces !  Where  was  she  ? 

Now  Rose  bends  over  her  a  face  pitying  as  God's 
angels.  The  hollow  eyes  glare  wildly  upon  it,  a  spasm 
passes  over  the  pale  face  of  the  sufferer,  and  as  she 
turns  away  to  the  pillow,  she  falters  out, 

"  Oh !  God  forgive  me  !     Mercy !  mercy !" 

"  May  He  grant  it !"  said  the  shuddering  Rose,  hid 
ing  her  face  in  her  husband's  bosom,  as  Markham's 
despairing,  dying  wail  rang  in  her  ears.  "  May  God 
grant  it,  even  at  the  eleventh  hour." 


KOSE     CLARK.  417 

When  youtli  had  passed,  and,  standing  upon  the 
threshhold  of  manhood,  Charley  looked  out  upon  the 
tangled  web  of  life,  and  saw  (seemingly)  the  scales  of 
eternal  justice  unevenly  balanced,  memory  painted 
again,  in  freshened  colors,  that  scene,  and  inscribed 
beneath  it — 

GOD  is  JUST! 


THE    END, 


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MR.   HERBERT'S   NEW   WORK. 


WAGER    OF    BATTLE, 

A    TALE   OF    SAXON    SLAVERY   IN    SHERWOOD 
FOREST. 

BY  HENRY  W.  HERBERT,   ESQ., 

Author  of   "Marmaduke  Wyvil,"    "Henry  VIII.  and    his 
Six  Wives,"  etc.,  etc. 

I     Vol.,     izmo.     Price    $i. 


"  The  story  transports  us  back  to  the  English  forests,  before  the  Norman  and  Saxon  races 
had  melted  into  one,  and  brings  up  a  succession  of  domestic  and  rural  pictures  that  are 
bright  with  the  freshness  of  that  primeval  time.  The  present  work  is  even  richer  in  the 
elements  of  popular  interest  than  Mr.  Herbert's  previous  fictitious  compositions,  and  will 
deservedly  increase  his  reputation  as  a  brilliant  and  vigorous  novelist."— New  York 
Tribune. 

"  '  The  Wager  of  Battle'  is  the  best  of  Herbert's  works."— N.  Y.  Sunday  Dispatch. 

4 '  The  story  is  one  of  intense  interest.  "—.ZV.  Y.  Daily  News. 

"  The  condition  of  the  serf— the  born  thrall  of  that  period,  is  accurately  delineated,  and 
the  life,  daily  occupations,  and  language  of  the  twelfth  century  placed  vividly  before  the 
reader.  There  is  no  incident  in  the  book  that  is  tame  and  lifeless."— N.  Y.  Picayune. 

"  Herbert  is  the  best  living  historical  novelist."— Cor.  Boston  Transcript. 

"  It  is  a  very  beautiful  tale — in  its  descriptive  scenes,  and  in  much  of  its  coloring,  remind 
ing  us  more  than  once  of  Ivanhoe." — Boston  Traveler. 

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creating  a  succession  of  highly  attractive  and  interesting  scenes,  which  completely  transfer 
us,  for  the  time,  to  the  wild  age  to  which  they  relate." — Portland  Eastern  Argus. 

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readers."— Phila.  Sunday  Dispatch. 

"We  like  a  good  historical  novel,  and  we  know  of  no  living  writer  better  qualified  to 
write  one  than  Henry  W.  Herbert.  In  the  present  volume  he  gives  a  fresh,  bold  picture  of 
Saxon  serfdom  in  England  before  yet  the  two  races  of  Norman  and  Saxon  were  mingled 
iuto  one.  The  delineation  of  outward  habits,  and  the  customs  of  the  time,  are  admirably 
done,  and  the  story  is  one  that  can  not  fail  to  interest  all  who  read  it."— Gospel  Banner, 
Augusta. 

"  A  story  of  great  interest.  *  *  *  Written  in  an  attractive  style.  *  *  *  Built 
npon  a  well-arranged  plot.  *  *  *  The  best  of  Herbert's  works." — Dayton  (O.) 
Empire. 

"  Herbert  is  a  pleasing,  busy,  instructive,  successful  novelist  historian."— Boston  Chris 
tian  Times. 

"  It  displays  much  dramatic  skill  and  felicity  of  description,  and  accurately  depicts  the 
manners,  customs,  and  institutions  of  the  Saxons  and  the  Normans,  at  the  time  of  their 
fusion  into  the  great  English  race."—  N.  Y.  Chronicle. 

"Mr.  Herbert's  style  is  clear  and  fine,  and  the  plot  of  his  story  well  constructed."— Statt 
ofMainf. 

"  One  of  the  best  stories  of  the  author."— Cor.  Boston  Traveler. 


THE     RAG-PICKER; 

OR, 

BOUND      AND      FREE. 

I   Vol.,    I2mo.       442   pp.       Price  $1.25. 


"  This  is  a  most  stirring  and  pathetic  story,  illustrating  the  terrible  power  of  hnman 
depravity  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  importance  of  using  the  most  efficient  means  to  counter 
act  it  on  the  other.  The  author  assures  us  that  his  statements  are  throughout  nothing  but 
Bober  verity  ;  and  that  many  of  the  persons  whose  character  and  experience  are  here  de 
scribed  are  still  living  in  various  parts  of  the  United  States.  If  this  be  really  so  (and  we 
have  no  right  to  dispute  the  author's  •word),  we  can  only  say  that  they  form  the  most 
remarkable  group  of  personages  which  have  ever  come  within  our  knowledge.  It  is  a  most 
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ton  Puritan  Recorder. 

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"  The  most  original  in  its  conception,  the  widest  in  its  scope,  the  most  interesting  in  its 
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no  preface  to  tell  us  that,  for  they  speak,  think,  and  act  to  the  life.  *  *  *  The  ups  and 
downs  of  honest  old  Davy,  the  hero  of  the  book,  the  true-hearted  Rag-Picker,  read  us  a 
homily  on  the  fickleness  of  fortune,  and  furnish  an  example  which  the  proudest  aristocrat 
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— N.  Y.  Saturday  Evening  Courier. 

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"  The  book  is  well  and  powerfully  written,  and  the  story  is  a  most  exciting  one."— Port 
land  Transcript. 

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terest  of  the  narrative  is  well  sustained." — Boston  Atlas. 

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— N.  Y.  Sunday  Times. 

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Daily  Argus. 

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"  The  narrative  warmly  enlists  the  sympathies  of  the  reader,  and  to  the  end  sustains  tho 
Interest  without  flagging." — Chicago  Christian  Times. 

"  It  is  beautifully  written,  and  will  be  widely  circulated,  as  it  richly  deserves."— Chris 
tian  Chronicle,  Phila. 

"A  well-planned  and  highly  interesting  story." — Fred.  Douglass's  Paper. 

"  The  story  is  one  of  decided  literary  merit,  and  unexceptionable  moral  tone  ;  aud  is  ra- 
plete  with  life  lessons  drawn  from  life  scenes." — Boston  Christian  Freeman. 

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*'  It  is  written  with  distinguished  ability." — Boston  Chronicle. 

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"  A  very  readable  volume."— Dollar  Newspaper. 

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"  No  one  will  read  it  without  a  feeling  of  satisfaction."— Oswego  Palladium. 

"  It  may  be  deemed  the  protest  of  an  energetic  mind  against  the  expression  and  lack  of 
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"  The  story  is,  in  truth,  one  of  realities  too  sadly  real,  and,  as  such,  impresses  the  reader 
with  more  profound  sympathies  for  the  unfortunate  of  our  race." — Dayton  Gazette. 

"  A  most  readable  and  interesting  book."— Pottsville  Register. 


O  L  I  E; 

OR,     THE     OLD     WEST     ROOM. 
The  Weary  at  Work  and  the  Weary  at  Rest. 

BY  L.  M.  M. 

I   Vol.      I2mo.,  456  pp.     Price  $1.25. 


"  A  simple,  charming  story."— If.  Y.  Evening  Mirror. 

"  The  author  is  master  of  that  magic  which  transmutes  fictitious  characters  into  real 
personages." — Philadelphia  Eve.  Argus. 

"Full  of  adventure,  and  very  interesting." — Boston  Chronicle. 
"  A  narrative  of  rare  interest." — N.  Y.  Commercial. 

"A  very  charming  story,  delicate  in  its  sentiment,  and  calculated  to  refine  as  •well  as 
please." — Boston  Traveler. 

"  The  last  chapter,  entitled  '  The  Weary  at  Rest,'  is  a  specimen  of  not  only  real  but 
Buhlime  pathos." — Boston  Puritan  Recorder. 

"  Charmingly  written,  and  truthful  in  portraiture." — Dayton  (0.)  Gazette. 

"  Calculated  to  make  the  reader  wiser  and  better." — Boston  Uncle  Samuel. 

"  Its  delineations  of  domestic  life  are  perfect ;  its  language  poetic  and  eloquent."— JT.  T. 
Daybook. 

"  The  work  abounds  with  beautiful  passages." — Portland  Inquirer. 

"A  home  book  for  every  family ;  an  interesting  fireside  companion." — Western  New 
Yorker. 

"  A  work  of  extraordinary  merit."— Dutchess  Democrat. 

"  We  can  commend  it  with  a  freedom  we  do  not  always  feel  at  liberty  to  use."— N.  York 
Evangelist. 

"Happily  conceived,  and  well  sketched."— Phila.  Christian  Observer. 

"  All  shall  be  the  better  for  the  reading  of  '  Olie.'  "— American  Index. 

"  Abounds  in  incidents  of  a  romantic  character." — Plymouth  Memorial. 

"  Written  purely  and  lovingly."— Hall's  Journal  of  Health. 

"A  rich  tone  of  moral  harmony  runs  all  through  its  flower  garden  of  sympathy  and 
love."— PeeksMll  Eagle. 

"It   is  written   in   a   beautiful    style,   and  in   a   loving  tender  spirit."—; New   York 
Citizen. 

"  Crowded  with  scenes  of  interest.'" — Plow,  Loom,  and  Anvil. 

"  From  page   to   page   you   are   lured   along  until   the   end  is   reached." — Masonic 
Review. 

"  Sketched  with  a  gentle  and  tender  hand."— N.  Y.  Presbyterian. 

"  Awakens  our  interest  and  our  sympathies."— Life  Illustrated. 

"  A  charming  and  chaste  production." — N.  Y.  Sunday  Times. 

"  Skillfully  narrated."—  Bonton  Transcript. 

"  Will  find  readers  in  every  home." — U.  S.  Mining  Journal. 

"  A  fine  production.  "—Boonesboro'  (Md.)  Odd  Fellow. 

"  Attracts  and  delights  the  reader." — Zion's  Advocate. 

"  A  well  written  and  interesting  book."—  Utica  Observer. 

"  An  entertaining  book  for  the  household."— Boston  Liberator. 

"  Can  not  fail  to  interest  the  reader."— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

"Well  worthy  of  perusal."— C7in<on  Sat.  Courant. 

"  We  cordially  recommend  it  to  our  readers." — IT.  S.  Review. 

"  Those  who  were  so  delighted  with  '  The  Lamplighter,'  will  be  charmed  with  '  Olie.'  » 
— Peterson's  Magazine. 

"  Greatly  superior  to  the  mass  of  domestic  novels." — Delaware  Gazette. 

"  The  dialogue  is  unaffected,  the  plot  simple  and  natural,  and  there  are  dashes  by  turns 
of  true  pathos  and  sentiment."— N.Y.  Saturday  Courier. 


CONE    CUT    CORNERS: 

0 

The  Experience  of  a  Conservative  Family  in  Fanatical  Times  ; 

Including  some  Account  of  a  Connecticut  Village,  the 

People  who  lived  in  it,  and  those  who  came 

there  from  the  city. 

BY     B  EN  AUL  YO 

I  Vol.     I2mo.,  456  pp.     Price  $1.25.     Elegantly  Illustrated. 


"  This  is  one  of  the  most  spirited  and  amusing  satires  on  Tillage  gossip  and  city  snobisna 
vrhich  has  fallen  in  our  way  for  many  a  day." — Boston  Traveler. 

"  It  is  written  with  the  ease  and  energy  of  a  practical  hand."— N.  Y.  Independent. 

"  It  is  written  with  spirit."— .ZV.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

"  Its  author  wields  &  satirical  and  even  caustic  pen."— Boston  Atlas. 

"  A  series  of  humorous  and  well-aimed  thrusts  at  the  follies  of  the  times." — Phila.  Sun. 
Mercury. 

"  One  of  the  best  temperance  stories  ever  written."— Bridgeport  (Conn.)  Standard. 
"  One  of  the  best  pictures  of  village  life  we  ever  read." — Lancaster  (Pa.)  Examiner. 
"  A  regular  Yankee  story — a  vein  of  humor  running  through  the  whole  of  it." — Bridgeport 
(Conn  )  Farmer. 

"  The  writer,  whoever  he  is,  has  original  fun,  humor,  satire,  and  knowledge  of  human 
nature  within  him." — Boston  Post. 

"  The  book  is  written  with  a  strong  and  vital  pen." — Boston  Bee. 
"  A  very  witty,  very  singular,  and  very  well  written  novel." — Phila.  Bulletin. 
"  Would  do  credit  to  a  Dickens  or  a  Thackeray."— Boston  Journal. 
"  It  is  pervaded  by  a  deep  current  of  genuine  wit  and  irony." — Boston  Puritan  Recorder. 
"  A  readable  and  entertaining  book." — Gin.  Columbian. 
"  Brimming  full  of  genuine  humor  and  satire." — Peeltslcill  Eagle. 

"  May  be  read  with  unabated  interest  and  delight  from  beginning  to  end."— St.  Louis 
Republican. 

"  It  has  real  humor,  sound  satire,  and  a  good  moral."— Nashua  (If.  H.)  Oasis. 
"  It  is  a  capitally  written  book."—  Watermlle  Mail. 
"  It  abounds  in  vigorous  portraiture." — N.  Y.  Picayune. 
"It  is  a  great  book."— Springfield  (0)  Nonpareil. 

'  The  story  is  most  admirably  told." — Rock  Inland  Republican. 

'  A  rich  and  racy  book."—  Woodntock  (Vt.)  Temperance  Standard. 

'  One  of  the  most  readable  books  of  the  day." — Portland  Tanscript  and  Eclectic. 

1  It  furnishes  a  rich  home  entertainment."—  Vt.  Christian  Messenger. 

1  Written  in  a  very  racy  style."— Alton  (III.)  Courier. 

'  Abounds  with  sound,  moral  judgment,  mixed  with  wit,  humor,  and  satire." — Free 
American,  North  Adams. 

"  It  is  remarkably  unique,  racy,  humorous,  pathetic,  and  has  many  graphic  delineations 
and  thrilling  passages."— Boston  Liberator. 

"  A  singularly  witty,   satirical,    and  well   written    American   romance." — California 
Farmer. 

"  Buy  it,  and  read  it  by  all  means."— Athens  (Pa.)  Gazette. 

"  We  can  heartily  commend  it  as  a  capitally  written  story.  "—Milwaukie  Sentinel; 
"  A  vary  natural,  and  extremely  interesting  story."— N.  Y.  Dispatch. 
"  A  pleasant,  agreeable,  readable  book."— N.  Y.  Atlas. 
"  It  is  a  pleasant  and  deeply  interesting  volume." — Utica  (N.  Y.)  Observer. 
"  Enchants  with  a  magic  spell  that  ever  tempts  us  onward." — Indianapolis  Sentinel. 
"  The  style  is  sprightly  and  attractive." — Syracuse  Chronicle. 
"  Written  in  a  style  of  charming  sprightliness." — Springfield  (Mass.)  Republican. 


LIFE  OF  HORACE  GREELEY, 

Editor  of  the  New  York  Tribune. 

BY  J.   PARTON. 

Elegantly  Illustrated.     i~Vol.      izmo.,  442  pp.    Price  $1.25. 


"  The  career  of  the  great  editor  from  humble  boyhood  to  proud  pre-eminence  among  the 
master-minds  of  the  country,  is  truthfully  and  fascinatingly  told."— Lafayette  (Ind.) 
Journal. 

"  It  is  an  account  of  the  life  of  a  man  of  great  energy  of  character,  and  of  more  than  com 
mon  variety  of  talent,  who  has  taken  a  prominent  part  in  the  controversies  and  discussions 
of  the  day."— N.  Y.  Evening  Po.it. 

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most  spicy  and  attractive  biography  of  the  day." — Boston  Journal. 

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"  Written  in  a  most  graphic  and  entertaining  style."— Chrixtian  Freeman. 

"It  is  a  useful  book — a  book  that  can  not  be  read  without  profit." — Trumpet  <J-  Magazine. 

"  A  faithful  and  full  history  of  a  man  whom  the  public  want  to  know  all  about."— Ellens- 
vine  Journal. 

"  A  volume  of  rare  interest." — Sandy  Hill  Herald. 

"  As  interesting  as  any  novel— yet  all  true."— Painesville  Democrat. 

"  The  life  of  Horace  Greeley  is  one  for  the  youth  of  America  to  study."— Phila.  News. 

"  Attractive,  interesting  and  instructive." — Rome  Excelsior. 

"A  book  which  should  be  in  every  household— should  be  read  and  pondered  by  the 
young  and  old." — Phila.  Merchant. 

"  Abounds  in  racy  anecdotes." — Fond-du-Lac  Herald. 

"  As  an  incentive  to  youth  in  poverty  to  be  honest,  faithful,  and  persevering,  apart  from 
its  personal  interest,  it  should  go  into  the  hands  of  the  young  of  America  generally."— 
Middletown  Standard. 


RUTH      HALL: 

A    Domestic    Tale    of  the    Present    Time. 

BY  FANNY   FERN. 

i  Vol.  I2mo.     pp.  400.     Price  $1.25. 


"  Every  chapter  has  the  touch  of  genius  in  it." — Worcester  Palladium. 

"It  is  a  thrilling  life  sketch,  with  passages  of  great  power  and  pathos."— Maysvi lie 
Eagle. 

' '  Flashes  of  gayest  humor  alternate  with  bursts  of  deep  pathos ;  BO  that  the  volume  is  re 
lieved  of  all  peril  of  monotony." — N.  Y,  Tribune. 

"  This  is  a  remarkable  book— a  book  to  create  a  sensation." — N.  Y.  Mirror. 

"Wherever  the  English  language  is  read,  Kuth  Hall  will  be  eagerly  read."— New  York 
Picayune. 

"  No  one  will  fail  to  read  the  book  through  who  reads  the  first  chapter."— N.  Y.  Sunday 
Courier. 

"  Never  did  a  tale  abound  in  so  many  beautiful  images." — Philadelphia  Mercury. 

"  In  point  of  interest  it  exceeds  any  work  of  fiction  we  have  read  for  years." — Eve. 
Journal. 

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ing."— Rutland  Co.  Herald. 

"  The  most  lively  and  sparkling  favorite  writer  of  the  present  time." — Burlington  Gazette.* 

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17  It  is  a  book  that  will  mako  a  sobbing  among  mothers  and  widows."— Poug7rfceepsie 
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"  The  interest  never  flags."— Knick.  Mag. 

"  In  '  Ruth  Hall'  there  is  pathos,  humor,  and  satire." — N.  Y.  Life  Illustrated. 

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11  A  real  Heart  Book,  a  household  book." — Schoharie  Democrat. 

"  It  sparkles  with  brilliants."— Hartford  Christian  Secretary. 

"  A  fresh  racy  volume." — Hartford  Union. 

"  Abounding  with  the  keenest  satire,  and  flashes  of  wit." — N.  Y.  Christian  Ambassador. 

"  Will  rival  the  choicest  productions  of  English  genius." — Columbus  (Geo.)  Times. 

"  Is  the  most  intensely  interesting  book  that  we  have  ever  read." — Ellenxville  Journal. 

"Every  page  glitters  witn  some  gem  of  intellect,  some  bright  truth."— Tiffin  (0.)  Tribune. 

"  No  novel  has  created  such  a  sensation."—^.  0.  Bulletin, 

"  Genius  is  manifested  in  every  page." — N.  Y.  Merchants1  Ledger. 

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town  Democrat. 

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Star. 

"  It  Is  instinct  with  the  highest  genius."— Philadelphia  Sun. 

"  Presents  a  vivid  picture  of  the  trials  of  literary  life."— N.  Y.  True  American. 

"  Its  scenes  are  drawn  with  power,  pathos,  and  naturalness." — Buff.  Eve.  Post. 

"  The  book  shows  fact  to  be  stranger  ihnn  fiction."— Rome  Excelsior. 

"  A  real  sketch  of  human  life,  amid  clouds,  storm  and  sunshine."— Lawrence  Sentinel. 

"All  the  characters  are  portraits — every  body  has  seen  theii  prototypes." — Watervilla 
Journal. 

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"  A  live  book  ;  it  is  a  tale  of  real  life ;  the  story  is  powerfully  told."-- Burlington 
Hawk  Eye. 

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"  A  book  of  extraordinary  interest."— Monongahela  Republican. 


DR.   LOWELL    MASON'S 
C  H  U  R  C  H      M  U  SIC. 

THE    HALLELUJAH.    A  book  for  the  Service  of  Song  in  the  House  of 

the  Lord,  containing  tunes,  chants,  and  anthems,  both  for  the  choir  and  congregation  ;  to 
•which  is  prefixed  the  Singing  School,  a  manual  for  classes  in  vocal  music,  with  exercises, 
rounds,  and  part  songs,  for  choir  practice  ;  also,  Musical  Notation  in  a  Nut-shell ;  a  brief 
course  for  singing-schools,  intended  for  skillful  teachers  and  apt  pupils.  By  LOWELL 
MASON.  $1.  Do.  cloth  extra,  $1  25. 

The  publication  of  this,  Dr.  Mason's  last  work,  was  looked  for  with  great  interest  by  the 
musical  public,  a.s  he  had  enjoyed  peculiar  advantages,  and  bestowed  extraordinary  labor  in 
its  preparation.  It  has  not  disappointed  the  expectations  with  regard  to  it.  Thus  far  it  has 
proved  the  most  successful  work  of  its  class  ever  published,  and  it  is  believed  that  it  will 
take  its  place  by  the  side  of  "Carmina  Sacra,"  by  the  same  author,  as  a  standard  work  in 
its  department. 

CANTICA  LAUDIS;  or,  the  American  Book  of  Church  Music;  being 
chiefly  a  selection  of  chaste  and  elegant  melodies  from  the  most  classic  authors,  ancient 
and  modern,  with  harmony  parts  ;  together  with  anthems  and  other  set  pieces  for  choirs  and 
singing-schools  ;  to  which  are  added  tunes  for  congregational  singing.  By  LOWELL  MASON 
and  GEORGE  JAMES  WEBB.  $1. 

THE  CARMINA  SACRA  ;  or,  Boston  Collection  of  Church  Music,  com 
prising  the  most  popular  psalm  and  hymn  tunes  in  general  use,  together  with  a  great 
variety  of  new  tunes,  chants,  sentences,  motetts,  and  anthems,  principally  by  distinguished 
European  composers  ;  the  whole  being  one  of  the  most  complete  collections  of  music  for 
choirs,  congregations,  singing-schools,  and  societies  extant.  By  LOWELL  MASON.  $1. 

NEW  CARMINA  SACRA;  or,  Boston  Collection  of  Church  Music. 
This  book  is  a  careful  and  thorough  revision  of  the  favorite  work  heretofore  published 
under  the  same  title.  The  object  has  been  to  retain  the  most  valuable  and  universally 
pleasing  part  of  the  former  work  as  the  basis  of  the  new,  omitting  such  portions  as  experi 
ence  had  proved  to  be  the  least  serviceable  and  popular,  and  substituting  choice  tunes 
and  pieces  selected  from  the  whole  range  of  the  author's  previous  works  ;  appending,  also,  ad 
ditional  pages  of  entirely  new  and  interesting  music,  from  other  sources.  In  its  present  form 
it  undoubtedly  comprises  one  of  the  best  collections  of  sacred  music  ever  published.  $1. 
*#*  More  than  400 ,00  J  copies  of  the  "  Carmina  Sacra"  have  been  sold. 

THE  BOSTON  ACADEMY'S  COLLECTION  OF  CHURCH  MUSIC. 

By  LOWKLL  MASON.    Published  under  direction  of  the  Boston  Academy  of  Music.    $1. 

THE  PSALTERY.  A  new  Collection  of  Church  Music.  By  LOWELL 
MASON  and  GEORGE  J.  WEBB.  Published  under  the  direction  and  with  the  sanction  of 
the  Boston  Academy  of  Music,  and  of  the  Boston  Handel  and  Haydn  Society.  §1. 

THE  NATIONAL  PSALMIST.  A  collection  of  the  moot  popular  and 
useful  Psalm  and  Hymn  tunes,  together  with  a  great  variety  of  new  tunes,  anthems,  sen 
tences,  and  chants — forming  a  most  complete  manual  of  church  music  for  choirs,  congrega 
tions,  singing-classes,  and  musical  associations.  By  LOWELL  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB.  51. 

THE  CONGREGATIONAL  TUNE  BOOK.  A  collection  of  popular 
and  approved  tunes,  suitable  for  congregational  use.  By  LOWELL  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB. 
30  cents. 

BOOK  OF  CHANTS.  Consisting  of  selections  from  the  Scriptures, 
adapted  to  appropriate  music,  and  arranged  for  chanting,  designed  for  congregational  use 
in  public  or  social  worship.  By  LOWELL  MASON.  12mo,  cloth.  75  cents. 

THE  BOSTON  ANTHEM  BOOK.  Being  a  selection  of  Anthems  and 
other  pieces.  By  LOWELL  MASOI..  $1  25. 

THE  BOSTON  CHORUS  BOOK.  Enlarged  ;  consisting  of  a  new 
selection  of  popular  choruses,  from  the  works  of  Handel,  Haydn,  and  other  eminent  com 
posers,  arranged  in  full  Vocal  score,  with  an  accompaniment  for  the  Organ  or  Piano  Forte. 
Compiled  by  LOWELL  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB.  75  cents. 


CHURCH      MUSIC. 


THE  SHAWM.  A  Library  of  Church  Music,  embracing  about  one 
thousand  pieces,  consisting  of  psalm  and  hymn  tunes,  adapted  to  every  meter  in  use  ;  an 
thems,  chants,  and  set  pieces  ;  to  which  is  added  an  original  cantata,  entitled  "  Daniel ; 
or,  the  Captivity  and  Restoration  ;"  including  also  the  "Singing  Class,"  an  entirely  new 
and  practical  arrangement  of  the  elements  of  music,  interspersed  with  social  part  songs  for 
practice.  By  WM.  B.  BRADBURY  and  G.  F.  ROOT,  assisted  by  THOMAS  HASTINGS  and  T. 
B.  MASON.  $1. 

THE  NATIONAL  LYRE.    A  collection  of  Psalm  and  Hymn  tunes,  with 

a  selection  of  chants,  anthems,  etc.  Designed  for  the  use  of  all  choirs,  congregations,  sing 
ing-schools,  and  societies  throughout  the  United  States.  Compiled  and  arranged  by  S.  P. 
TUCKERMAN,  S.  A  BANCROFT,  and  H.  K.  OLIVER.  75  cents. 

TEMPLE  MELODI ES.    A  collection  of  about  two  hundred  popular  tunes> 

adapted  to  nearly  five  hundred  favorite  hymns,  selected  with  special  reference  to  public, 
eocial,  and  private  worship.  By  DARIUS  E.  JONES.  12mo.  cloth,  62  1-2  cents.  12mo, 
roan,  gilt,  75  cents.  12mo,  cloth,  full  gilt  sides  and  edges,  $1.  8vo,  cloth,  87  1-2  cents. 
8vo,  roan,  gilt,  $1.  8vo,  Turkey  morocco,  extra  gilt  (pulpit  copies),  $3. 

The  different  editions  correspond  exactly  in  all  their  contents,  being  page  for  page  the 
same,  varying  only  in  the  size  of  type  and  style  of  binding.  This  work  has  been  extensively 
introduced  into  churches  of  various  denominations,  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  and 
has,  we  believe,  given  universal  satisfaction  in  all  cases.  It  is  believed  that  it  contains 
a  very  much  larger  number  of  really  favorite  and  useful  hymns  and  tunes  than  any  other 
book. 

PLAIN   MUSIC   FOR  THE    BOOK    OF   COMMON    PRAYER.    A 

complete  collection  of  sacred  music,  for  the  worship  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church, 
designed  especially  for  congregational  use.  Edited  by  Rev.  G.  T.  RIDER,  A.M.  50  cents. 
This  work  has  been  carefully  prepared  to  meet  a  long  felt  want,  namely,  of  a  book  of 
chants  and  tunes  for  congregational  use,  that  should  contain,  in  convenient  order  and  form, 
and  attractive  style,  and  at  the  same  time  at  a  reasonable  price,  all  the  music  required  for 
the  use  of  the  people. 

THE  LIBER  MUSICUS;  or,  New  York  Anthem  Book  and  Choir  Miscel 
lany,  comprising  anthems,  choruses,  quartetts,  trios,  duets,  songs,  etc.  It  includes  pieces 
for  the  festivals  of  Christmas,  Thanksgiving,  and  Easter,  commencement  and  close  of  the 
year,  dedications  and  installations,  for  funerals  and  fasts,  etc.,  etc.  Most  of  the  pieces  are 
new,  and  while  their  simple  melody  and  ease  of  performance  peculiarly  adapt  them  to  the 
wants  of  smaller  choirs,  they  are  also  all  the  largest  can  require.  $1. 

THE  CHOIR  CHORUS   BOOK.    A  collection  of  choruses   from  the 

•works  of  the  most  distinguished  composers.  Compiled,  adapted  to  English  words,  and  ar 
ranged  with  particular  reference  to  choir  practice,  and  for  the  use  of  musical  societies,  by 
A.  N.  JOHNSON.  In  the  large  and  varied  collection  which  this  book  contains,  five  of  the 
choruses  are  by  Handel,  thirteen  by  Haydn,  seventeen  by  Mozart,  six  by  Mendelssohn,  and 
the  remainder  by  Cherubini,  Neukomm,  Zingarelli,  Romberg,  Webbe,  Naumann,  Spohr, 
King,  Steymann,  etc.  $1. 

CHORUSES  OF  HANDEL'S  MESSIAH.  Complete  vocal  parts,  form- 
ing  No.  1  of  the  "  Oratorio  Chorus  Book."  This  is  the  first  of  a  series,  the  design  of  which 
Is  to  furnish,  in  a  compact  and  very  cheap  form,  the  choruses  of  the  great  oratorios,  so  that 
this  standard  music  may  be  brought  within  reach  of  all.  50  cents. 

THE  PILGRIM  FATHERS.  A  Cantata  in  two  parts.  Composed  by 
GEORGE  F.  ROOT,  assisted  in  the  preparation  of  the  words  by  Miss  FRANCES  J.  CROSBY, 
the  blind  poetess.  Paper,  25  cents. 

This  cantata  was  originally  prepared  for  the  pages  of  tho  "  Hallelujah,"  and  is  now 
pubiishsd  as  a  supplement  to  that  work. 


GLEE     BOOKS. 


THE   NEW  YORK  GLEE  AND  CHORUS    BOOK.    A  collection  of 

new  and  admired  glees  and  choruses,  for  singing-schools,  choir  practice,  Musical  conven 
tions,  and  the  social  circle.    By  WM.  B.  BRADBURY  and  LOWELL  MASON.    (In  press.)    $1. 

THE  NEW    ODEON.    A  collection  of  Secular  Melodies,  arranged  and 

harmonized  in  four  parts.    By  LOWELL  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB.    $1. 

A  revised  edition  of  the  most  popular  collection  of  secular  music  ever  published  in  Amer 
ica,  but  which  has  for  some  time  been  out  of  the  market.  New  Elements  of  Music  have 
been  prepared  for  it,  and  the  places  of  such  pieces  as  proved  least  attractive  in  former  edi 
tions  are  occupied  by  arrangements  of  popular  melodies,  especially  prepared  for  this  new 
edition.  It  is  the  largest  collection  of  secular  music  published. 

THE  GLEE  HIVE.  A  collection  of  glees  and  part  songs.  By  LOWELL 
MASOX  and  G.  J.  WEBB.  Revised  and  enlarged  edition.  50  cents. 

In  the  revised  edition  a  few  of  the  heavier  and  more  difficult  pieces  have  been  laid  aside, 
and  their  place,  and  a  number  of  additional  pages,  are  filled  by  lighter  and  more  pleasing 
compositions. 

THE  VOCALIST.  Consisting  of  short  and  easy  glees,  or  songs,  arranged 
for  soprano,  alto,  tenor,  and  bass  voices.  By  L.  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB,  Professors  in 
the  Boston  Academy  of  Music.  $1. 

THE  BOSTON  GLEE  BOOK.    By  LOWELL  MASON  and  GEO.  J.  WEBB. 

Containing  the  choicest  of  the  Standard  English  Glees.    This  work  has  been  most  admired 
of  any  similar  publication,  and  has  retained  its  popularity  unabated.    $1  25. 

TWENTY-ONE  MADRIGALS.  Selected  mostly  from  old  and  distin 
guished  composers.  By  L.  MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB.  50  cents. 

THE  MELODIST.  A  collection  of  glees  and  part  songs.  By  G.  J.  WEBB 
and  WM.  MASON.  $1. 

THE  SOCIAL  GLEE  BOOK.  A  collection  of  classic  glees,  mostly 
from  the  German.  By  WM.  MASON  and  SILAS  A.  BANCROFT.  For  skillful  singers  who  ara 
able  to  sing  music  of  some  difficulty  with  taste,  this  book  is  a  treasure.  It  is  filled  with 
gems  of  the  first  water,  which  will  not  lose  their  luster  by  once  wearing.  The  more  thesa 
gems  are  sung,  the  better  they  will  be  liked.  New  edition.  Price  reduced  to  $1. 

FIRESIDE  HARMONY.  A  collection  of  glees  and  part  songs.  By  WM. 
MASON.  $1. 


FOR  MEN'S  VOICES. 

THE  YOUNG  MEN'S  SINGING   BOOK.     A  collection  of  music  for 

male  voices,  intended  for  use  in  Colleges,  Theological  Seminaries,  and  the  social  circle, 
consists  of,  Part  I.— The  Singing  School.  II.— Glees  and  part  Songs.  III.— Choir  Tunes. 
IV.— Congregational  Tunes.  V. — Anthems,  Chants,  etc.  By  GEORGE  F.  ROOT,  assisted 
by  L.  MASON.  $1. 

THE  GENTLEMEN'S  GLEE  BOOK.'  A  selection  of  glees  for  men's 
voices,  from  the  most  admired  German  composers.  By  L.  MASON.  This  is  the  only  work 
of  the  kind  published  in  this  country.  •  It  contains  a  very  choice  selection  of  the  very  best 
of  the  German  gleea  for  men's  voices.  $1, 


JUVENILE    MUSIC. 

BRADBURY'S  YOUNG  SHAWM.  A  collection  of  School  Music.  By 
W.  B.  BBADBUBT.  The  features  of  this  new  book  are,  1st,  a  brief  elementary  course,  in 
•which  tunes  and  songs  in  the  body  of  the  work,  are  referred  to,  instead  of  mere  "exer 
cises,"  printed  in  the  elementary  department :  2d,  Musical  Notation  in  a  Nutshell ;  or, 
Things  to  be  taught ;  furnishing  to  the  teacher  a  synopsis  of  such  subjects  as  he  will  need 
to  introduce  from  lesson  to  lesson  ;  3d,  a  great  variety  of  new  juvenile  music.  38  cents. 

THE  SONG  BOOK  OF  THE  SCHOOL  ROOM.  Consisting  of  a  great 
variety  of  songs,  hymns,  and  Scriptural  selections,  with  appropriate  music.  Containing, 
also,  the  Elementary  Principles  of  Vocal  Music  according  to  the  Inductive  Method.  De 
signed  to  be  a  complete  Music  Manual  for  Common  or  Grammar  Schools.  By  LOWELI. 
MASON  and  G.  J.  WEBB.  38  cents. 

THE  PRIMARY  SCHOOL  SONG  BOOK.  In  two  parts  ;  the  first  part 
consisting  of  songs  suitable  for  Primary  Juvenile  Singing  Schools,  and  the  second  part 
consisting  of  an  Explanation  of  the  Inductive  or  Pestalozzian  Method  of  teaching  Music  to 
such  schools.  By  LOWELL  MASON  and  GEOEGE  JAMES  WEBB.  18  cents. 

THE  BOSTON  SCHOOL  SONG  BOOK.  Sanctioned  by  the  Boston 
Academy  of  Music.  Original  and  Selected.  By  LOWELL  MASON.  30  cents. 

LITTLE  SONGS  FOR  LITTLE  SINGERS.  For  the  youngest  classes, 
the  nursery,  etc.  By  LOWELL  MASON.  18  cents. 

WILDER'S  MUSICAL  ELEMENTARY.  An  improved  text-book  in  the 
first  principles  of  Singing  by  Note,  with  a  variety  of  recreative  school  music.  A  new  and 
revised  edition  of  this  popular  work,  to  which  are  added  many  new  pieces.  By  LBVI 
WILDER,  Teacher  of  Music  in  Brooklyn  Public  Schools,  etc.,  etc.  38  centa. 

WILDER-S  SCHOOL  MUSIC.  A  collection  of  pleasing  pieces  for 
schools  and  juvenile  classes.  By  L.  WILDEB,  Teacher  of  Music  in  Brooklyn  Public 
Schools.  18  cents. 

HASTINGS'S  SABBATH  SCHOOL  SONGS.  A  collection  of  many 
original  tunes  and  hymns  for  Sabbath  schools.  By  THOMAS  HASTINGS.  18  cents. 

JUVENILE  ORATORIOS;  the  Festival  of  the  Rose,  Indian  Summer, 
and  the  Children  of  Jerusalem ;  designed  for  Floral  and  other  Concerts,  Singing  and  Com 
mon  Schools,  etc.  By  J.  C.  JOHNSON,  originator  of  the  Floral  Concerts  in  Boston.  Tho 
Oratorios  are  arranged  to  bo  sung  entire  or  in  parts,  to  suit  the  tasto  and  occasion.  30  cents. 

THE  TEMPLE  OF  INDUSTRY.  A  juvenile  Oratorio.  ByJ.  C.JOHN- 
BON,  author  of  Juvenile  Oratorios.  30  cents. 


MUSICAL  WORKS  FOR  ACADEMIES  MD  SEMINARIES. 

THE  MUSICAL  ALBUM,  A  Vocal  Class  Book  for  Female  Seminaries, 
Academies,  and  High  Schools.  By  GEO.  F.  ROOT.  The  demand  for  new  music  in  female 
seminaries,  academies,  etc.,  and  especially  from  those  who  have  used  the  "  Academy 
Vocalist,"  has  led  to  the  preparation  and  publication  of  this  work.  The  elementary  in 
struction,  exercises,  solfeggios,  and  rounds,  together  with  the  anthems,  etc.,  are  taken  by 
permission  from  Mr.  Mason's  popular  work,  "  The  Hallelujah."  63  cents. 

THE  ACADEMY  VOCALIST.    A  collection  of  Vocal  Music,  arranged 

for  the  use  of  Seminaries,  High  Schools,  Singing  Classes,  etc.  By  GEO.  F.  ROOT,  Profess 
or  of  Music  in  Abbott's  Collegiate  Institution,  Spingler  Institute,  Rutger's  Institute,  etc. 
Including  a  complete  course  of  elementary  instruction,  vocal  exercises,  and  solfeggios.  By 
L.  MASON.  "  The  Academy  Vocalist!'  is  the  standard  text-book  of  a  large  portion  of  tho 
most  esteemed  academies,  seminaries,  high  schools,  etc.,  in  tho  land,  and  has  already 
passed  through  ten  editions,  which  proves  it  a  most  acceptable  work.  63  cents. 

THE  FLOWER  QUEEN;  or,  the  Coronation  of  the  Rose.  A  cantata  in 
two  parts.  Words  by  Miss  F.  J.  CEOSBT,  a  graduate  of  the  New  York  Institution  for  tho 
Blind.  Music  by  G.  F.  ROOT,  editor  of  "  Academy  Vocalist,"  "  The  Shawm,"  etc.  50  cts. 


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